#my dads kicking me out in two years (in favor of his girlfriend and her kids bc he would rather live w them!!!)

[scalpelsister]

what if i lost the will to live like. as a joke. what then.

[himbosandhardwear]

Steddie I Different First Meeting I Lollapalooza/Musician AU I 1.6k I SFW I Side Buckingham

Chrissy is talking but Eddie only catches every fourth word. It's not his fault, the guy walking in front of them is wearing the shortest possible shorts one could wear in public and not get arrested, and the back of his thighs, and the rest of him as far as Eddie can tell, are covered in little brown beauty marks. It's like walking behind a sexy train wreck. 

“So what do you think?”

“Mmm?”

“Eddie! This is important! Pay attention.”

He finally looks away. “Yeah. Italian. Whatever.”

She rolls her eyes. “I already decided on dinner, you jackass. I'm talking about going home for Thanksgiving.”

That's a huge no. He scrunches his nose to indicate how stupid an idea he thinks that is. 

Before she can further berate him, the guy and his girlfriend stop at a random door and walk inside. He's devastated. His soulmate, lost forever! 

“Oh, that's actually on our list!” Chrissy says, stopping him with an arm. “You wanna just go now?”

Eddie's so in his own head he doesn't understand what she's talking about until he reads the door and sees ‘Medieval Torture Museum.’ 

Eddie has a full blown joy filled conniption on the sidewalk. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.” He grabs her and shoves her towards the door.

“Asshole, this is silk,” she mumbles. 

He ignores her. His mole-covered soulmate is still in line, so Eddie gets to stand directly behind him while they wait. His hair is so swoopy. He wants to jam his fingers in it and fuck it up.

“Welcome to the Medieval Torture Museum,” a woman standing at the podium drones in a manner fitting a 70 year old Walmart greeter. “Please no flash photography and watch your step. Have a great time.”

Eddie watches as Soul Mate and his girlfriend make eye contact and attempt not to giggle. It's exactly the same thing he and Chrissy just did behind them. 

Once it's their turn to pay and get their little stickers, Eddie is already foaming at the mouth to follow up the stairs. Chris dicks around, struggling to figure out where to put her sticker. Eddie swears at her under his breath while his Soul Mate gets away.

“It's silk, Eddie!”

Fed up, he takes the sticker from her, baps it onto her forehead, and runs away.

He's glad he left her when he gets to the top of the stairs in time to hear Soul Mate mutter, “I'd pay a drug lord to do that to my dad.”

His girlfriend answers, “I'll do it for twenty bucks and first pick out of his wine cellar.”

They shake on it in front of the mannequin display of a Columbian Necktie.

Eddie is more in love than ever. 

“That's not medieval,” Chrissy points out when she meets them upstairs. She's unbuttoned the blouse enough for Eddie to see the sticker is now stuck to her collarbone. 

“If you're gonna get nit-picky, I'm pushing you back down the stairs.”

She gives him a doubtful look. “Daria down there would save me.”

He huffs a laugh. 

They catch up with his new boyfriend as they stand critiquing the Impaling wall, he follows as subtle as he can through the next room too. Luckily, there are other people mingling about, so Eddie doesn't look too obvious, but it's imperative he stay close enough to hear every comment made.

“That would fix me,” the guy says a lot, especially at the display of a man having his head squeezed until his eye pops out. Eddie can relate, he gets migraines too. 

He does get distracted when Chrissy opens the door to the giant metal bull, because he can't miss the opportunity to try to shove her inside. She wails, kicking him directly in the dick. He drops her in favor of dry heaving the pain away. It's totally worth it because he catches Soul Mate watching. 

“Don't even think about it,” Soul Mate’s girlfriend says. 

Soul mate scoffs. “Like you'd even fit.”

“Bitch!” 

They wander off.

Eddie waddles after, slowly.

He's reading a plaque about flaying when he hears the two of them mutter, “Henderson,” at the same time. He turns and finds them high fiving over a display of a guy with his tongue nailed to a board. 

“Is this a sex thing?” Chrissy asks, holding up a metal cock plate with spikes attached. 

“Without a doubt. I'd venture to say most of this stuff is. Also remind me to have something like this guy drawn up for wardrobe,” he wiggles the one with a boar on the front, “it's so me.”

“Ugh, you're the worst.” 

He stops giggling when he looks up to find Soul Mate looking him up and down, not in a ‘I must have you’ kinda way but a ‘I know you from somewhere’ way. He's not a fan, that's for sure, a fan would've clocked him right away, stupid ball cap on or not. He's sweating his ass off in a sleeveless tank top and jeans, and his tattoos are fairly recognizable. 

Eddie, not shy in the least, gives him a little wave, wiggling the metal boar dildo at him. “How about this guy? Think he'd fix ya?”

The guy chokes on a laugh, embarrassed to be caught looking but not so much that he looks away. “Only one way to find out,” he manages to say just loud enough for Eddie to hear, not so loud that the entire room hears it. 

His girlfriend slaps his bicep. “Don't flirt with Eddie Munson!” She hisses. Not in a ‘you're standing next to your girlfriend’ kind of way but in a ‘flirting with famous rock stars is ill advised’ kinda way.

Hope springs eternal! “No, do. Do flirt with Eddie Munson,” Eddie, shameless in the face of possible love, says back.

Soul Mate moves closer. “Eddie Munson? The Coffin guy? Melted Coffin? You're the Melted Coffin guy?” 

Despite the lack of musical awareness, Eddie is still smitten. “Sure. Melted Coffin.”

Chrissy snickers at his elbow. “Does that make you guys one half of Spoon Goons?”

“Ha!” Soul Mate's girlfriend cackles, holding up a hand for a high five. 

Chrissy gives her a demure tap, actually blushing, like the useless lesbian she is.

“What's a Spoon Goon? Are you guys drug dealers? Why would she know you and I don't?”

Chrissy rolls her eyes up at him, the ‘I lament ever being nice to you in high school, you are embarrassing me’ look.

“They're in Scoops Troop, dumb ass. You've never seen them before because you don't listen to pop music.” She turns back to her new crush. “Sorry, he's allergic to dance beats. Also,” she looks back up at him, “where do you think your drugs come from? The Drug Fairy?”

“That was my nickname in High School,” he quips. 

“It wasn't but it might as well have been.”

Eddie turns back to his Soul Mate and holds out a hand. “Eddie Munson.”

Soul Mate wastes no time shaking, grip firm, hands huge. “Steve Harrington.” He takes his hand away to backhand his friend in the shoulder. “This is Robin. Buckley. Platonic Soul Mate and huge cock block.”

“Huge Cock Block was my nickname in High School,” she says, shaking Eddie's hand and then Chrissy’s.

“Cunningham, Chrissy.” 

“Holy shit!” Robin exclaims. “You're Christine Cunningham? Wait, of course you are, oh my god, I heard all about what you did to Axel Rose last year. That was fucking epic.”

Chrissy, still holding Robin's hand, goes scarlet red. “Oh. Ha. Yeah, he's a dill weed.”

Robin gives her an unwarranted snort. Though calling Axel Rose a dill weed is pretty accurate, it's probably the tamest thing he's ever been called.

Eddie glances over at Steve. They share a look. ‘Can you believe how useless lesbians are?’ 

Eddie nods toward their still clasped hands, pointing out the total lack of awareness on both of their parts. Steve snorts. 

The girls go on a tangent of their least favorite artists to tour with, which is when Eddie gets while the gettin’s good and starts scooting away, Steve equally cat-like beside him. They back toward the next room, side by side, until they bump into a mannequin display of various ways to tickle someone to insanity. 

“Huh,” Steve mumbles, distracted from their getaway. “That can't be right. That claw thing just looks like it would feel good.”

“I'm pretty sure I have one of those at home.”

Steve glances over. “Oh yeah? Where's home?”

“Currently, L.A. Originally? Bout an hour south of Indianapolis.”

Steve's eyes light up. “No shit? I'm from an hour north of Indianapolis!”

“That's insane.” 

“Seriously. Ha.” He plays with the rope contraption on the Blood Eagle display. “You guys are playing tomorrow night, right?”

“Yeah. Nine o'clock. You guys?”

“Sunday at Four.”

Eddie nods, files that away. “The girls are probably gonna fall in love and try to move in together, you know that right?”

Steve shrugs. “We're in Sacramento at the moment, LA wouldn't be a stretch. I'm a wiz at U-Hauling at this point.” 

“Good. So we should do our best to support them. Fucking immediately is probably the best course of action, you know, just to make sure we're compatible.”

Steve doesn't look over but Eddie sees his lips get tucked in, trying to smash his smile down. “You had me at ‘weird torture pig dildo.’”

“You had me out on the sidewalk, I would've followed you down a manhole.”

“Play your cards right, you still might.”

“I love you.”

They're still making eyes at each other when the girls catch up.

“Eddie, Robin and Steve are coming to dinner with us.”

“Yeah they are,” he agrees immediately, throwing an arm around Steve's shoulder.

“Did you know their drummer doesn't have any collarbones?” Chrissy says as they make their way back toward the front stairs.

“Holy fuck, Cunningham, I'm already a sure thing, you don't have to keep selling it.”

[strangelysamantha]

crumbled cookies pt 2 ☆

jj maybank x plus!reader (fem!reader)

warnings: confrontation, swearing, mentions of abuse, fat shaming (slightly)

words: 1,731.

summary: after jj finds out his dad was the reason for your black eye, he had to confront him.

request? yes, and requests are open :)

a/n: it’s literally been three years… i hope im not too late. haha, but here’s part two. not proof read, but enjoy!

part one

my masterlist

—————————————————————————-

you asked jj to spend the night with you. he agreed, which resulted in him laying on his back as your head lay still on his chest. one of his hands was always touching you, so he could ensure you weren't going to go anywhere. as you slowly fell asleep beside him, he started to think about what his father had done. with anger clouding his better judgement, he stealthily slipped out your grasp, and climbed out your window, set to fulfil the goal in his head.

he walked back home, searching for answers. the thought of what occurred between his father and his girl, made him sick. she was the most important thing that’s ever happened to him, and he wasn’t going to let his dad get away with this. there’s no excuse. he made it home, the adrenaline starting to fade as the realization that his dad was on the other side of the door hit. he hesitated; but the memory of your black eye was enough motivation to push through.

he opened the front door, his eyes searching the place, he walked to the kitchen, finding the ziplock baggy he assumed was for the cookies. he bent down to pick it up, a small smile on his lips from the note you wrote. he set it on the table, turning around. he expected to see his dad on the couch, but he wasn’t there. jj kept looking through out the house, unable to find him. he went to his room, sitting on his bed. his mind was running with thoughts, playing out every scenario imaginable between him and his father. he heard the toilet flush, the nerves creeping back as he realized his father was awake, and actively leaving the bathroom. he took a deep breath; and headed to the living room.

he stared at his father, hatred seething through his veins. “son, you’re back.” jjs face was cold, “why’d you do it dad?” he questioned. “she really ratted me out? go figure.” jj walked in front of his dad, who was now laid down on the couch. cigarette buds, alcohol bottles, and empty pill viles litter the table. “left her with a black eye, doesn’t take a genius to know something happened.” he squints his eyes, “well boy. maybe that’ll make you learn who you should and shouldn’t be hangin out with.” his father laughs, dismissing his son again. jj hated his nonchalance, how he wanted to act like he didn’t do anything wrong.

his response only angered jj more, he kicks the bottles over, raising his voice. “you don’t get to decide who i talk to, and you sure as hell don’t get to put your hands on them.” the bottles crash to the floor, and his father looks surprised. “huh, i must have struck a nerve. boy, that girl will only break your heart, if anything i did you a favor. maybe it’ll make her stay away.” he looks over at the bottles, “you better clean that shit up too.”

jjs hand clenched into a fist, redirecting his anger he punches the living room wall behind him. “i’m tired of you dad. do you even realize what you did? you hurt my girlfriend, and you’re a fucking piece of shit.” his father got a kick out of that, sarcastically he bit back, “that girl scout ain’t shit, did she make you another batch of cookies as an apology for messing with your old man?” jj reached over the table and grabbed his father by his collar, pulling him up, and slamming him back into the couch. “maybe i should give you a black eye too? make it even?” jj yells. “better yet! how about i take your pills and flush em?! i don’t give a fuck anymore! you hurt the one person i care most about.” jjs fist collided with his fathers face, cursing him out as he swings another blow. “you’re not going to touch my girl again, you hear me?!” his father quickly stood up from the couch. inching towards him, he kicks jj in the abdomen. “you can’t do that boy! i’m older.” another blow to jjs head, as his dad throws him to the ground. “i can mess with her all i want, besides im just looking out for you; she’s not worth your time, you can find someone way more… fit.” he chuckles at his word play before backing away from his son.

jjs stomach aches, he gets back on his feet, charging at him, and tackling him to the floor. tears stream down his face, the comments he made about his poor girlfriend were enough for him to commit homocide. “i’d choose her over you any fucking day!” jj continuously throws punches, having the higher ground, he gets three good punches in before deciding it’s enough. “i’m not coming back dad. i’m done. i’m gone. live your life how you want; but if it’s worth anything, i’m sure you won’t change a bit. goodbye.” jj storms off to his room, locking the door behind him. he packs all his necessities quickly; taking two bags before slipping out his window and heading to john bs.

arriving at john bs, he hurry’s inside, calling out his name. “woah! what’s up j?” john bs face is filled with concern, seeing his best friend with a bloody lip, and a swollen face. “my dad man; he messed with my girl. gave her a black eye, tried to scare her into pushing me away. i left. i hate him. i can’t loose her, she’s everything to me.” jj was spiraling; his head swamped with anger, resentment, and stress. john b nods ushering him to the couch. “it’s okay, alright? have a seat, take a breather.” jj reluctantly sits on the couch, jon b grabs some water before joining him. handing jj the water he speaks up, “what happened man? what’s going on?”

“i beat his ass, and then i ran away. i did my nightly routine yknow? and when i got there she was wearing these sunglasses, it was dark outside. i finally convinced her to take them off; my father had punched her in the face so hard, she got a black eye. she was going to my place to give me cookies man, i wasn’t there. i didn’t know. my father was, and he hated her. he took his anger out on her.” it was a lot to process for john b, but he held it together for the sake of his friend. “alright it’s all good, you can crash here, we’ll figure it all out. you won’t need to go back there anymore. how is she?”

“she’s good, fine, i don’t know. she’s at home sleeping, i made sure she was asleep before i left.” his eyes frantically glanced around the room, anxiety overwhelming him, “i just can’t have anything or anyone without something going wrong. she says she doesn’t blame me and it’s okay, but it’s not fair for her.” john b grabs jjs shoulder to comfort him, “alright. alright, well, shit man. i know you’re fathers shitty but punching a random girl just because? that’s next level.” jj silently agreed, he stood up pacing. “i gotta get back to her. i don’t want her to know what happened, she can’t know i left.” john b shook his head, “no! don’t start lying when the relationship just started. you have to be honest. do you want me to drive you there so we can talk it out?”

“yes, let’s go. we have to go now.” the two of them hurry outside to the twinkie, headed to your place. jjs eyes are locked on the window; watching the dark scenery fly by. john b interrupts his trance, “jj, it’ll be alright. your dads outta the picture. you just need to focus on comforting her, and making it right. treat her with love, you’re filed with so much love and admiration for her; you just gotta show her. you won’t push her away, your father was wrong, he doesn’t know her like we do.” his words are reassuring. they arrive outside your place, jj quickly but quietly makes it in your room, youre still asleep peacefully, he sends a text to john b saying the coast is clear, and he can hear the twinkie driving off.

jj gets back in bed with you, silently and carefully slipping back into your grasp. he tries to contain himself but he struggles and ultimately the emotions push through, he’s silently crying while he watches you sleep blissfully. the agony in his heart, your black eye reliving the ache in his stomach of how his own blood put you through pain. his running thoughts exhausts him, and soon enough he’s passed out, sleeping in your room.

the next morning the sunrise blinds the two of you; stirring awake, you sigh. you look over to see jj, his eyes are still closed but you can tell he isn’t asleep. you look at his swollen face, your lips frown and confusion washes over you. did he leave last night? “good morning,” you hesitate, “how did you sleep?” he chuckles softly, “i slept peacefully, with you. how did you sleep?” he returns the question to you. “i slept great. really great. did you uh, go anywhere?” he expected your concern, “i went home. i packed up a few bags. i’m not going back anytime soon. john b said i could crash at his, and hey, maybe i can spend the night here a couple times baby.” the nickname fills you with butterflies. “of course. did he hurt you?”

“not as bad as i hurt him. he won’t be a problem, i promise. i’ll protect you.” his words reassured you, and while you weren’t fully ready for what was to come, you could confidently say you were comfortable with it, as long as jj was on your side. “now let’s get some more sleep, it’s way too early.” he gets up and closes the blinds, pulling the curtains together to block out most of the sun. he gets back in bed, spooning you, and engulfing the two of you in blankets. “we’ll talk after a few more hours of sleep okay?” you closed your eyes content, “okay. sleep well.” he kissed your shoulder, his arms holding your waist, he dozes off.

[snowflakeanimelover]

hello it's me again i appreciate the picture you made for me and i wanted to ask another lol, in which reader fem needs to pretend to her parents that she has a boyfriend and nothing less and nothing more she asks urahara for help to be her boyfriend of little lie, but actually she likes him a lot.

Had a lot of fun writing this! Thank you for the request! Hope you enjoy this as much as I did.

"Uh....what now...?"

Kisuke looked more confused then he has in his life time. Confused and surprised. I suppose he wouldn't ever expect me to ask such a question, even though we've been friends for a long time. A couple years, at least.

I quickly bow down, my forehead hitting the wooden floor. "I'm so sorry!" I yell out, genuinely sorry for putting this burden on him. I lift my head up, looking around the dining room to avoid eye contact. We were in the middle of eating dinner, it was the best time to ask him for the favor, or else he'd be gone in a flash after dinner.

"Wow!" Jinta sings. "This is great! Gotta get this on tape!"

"Jinta... Don't be so mean..." Ururu whispers, trying to pull Jinta down from all of his laughing and mocking.

Of course... It would've been better not to mention the favor right in front of the kids. "Uh..." Kisuke utters again, bringing me back to focus. "Explain a bit more, would you?" He asks kindly.

"Oh! Right..." I sit up straighter now. "Well... my mom and dad have been nagging me about finding a boyfriend... I told her that I found one so they could stop nagging me about it... and they asked me to dinner... including my 'boyfriend'..." I say, ashamed of my excuse.

"Hmm... I see..." He taps the closed fan against his chin, looking towards the ceiling in thought. "I suppose... I can be your boyfriend for the night." He winks at me.

My face instantly bursts into a shade of pink. "Really?!" I gasp, flailing my arms around. I really didn't expect him to say yes to the favor.

"Sure! I do owe you a favor, after all." He smiles. "So, when is the dinner supposed to be held?"

--------

My dad grabs Kisuke's hand for a shake. "Nice to meet you!"

"Oh! He's so handsome!" My dad steps aside for my mom to cup his face, giving him a welcome greeting with a kiss on each cheek.

"M-mom... Please stop embarrassing me..." I whine, trying to pull her hands off of his face. She reluctantly lets go of his poor face.

"Alright! Please, come in! Come in!" My mom says, walking into the apartment, leaving Kisuke and I alone outside.

"Well, your parents are very kind." He smiles, straightening his tie.

I sigh. "I thought I told you to be normal..."

He chuckles. "What? Wearing a nice suit is a good impression on your parents, right?" He grabs my hand. "Now, let's head inside, darling." He drags me into the house. I grumble. He was definitely getting a kick out of this. Although, I cant lie. He looked really good in that suit...

---------

"So, what do you do for a living, Uruhara?" After the first couple of bites of dinner, my mom starts with the questions.

Kisuke chuckles. "Please, call me Kisuke! I'm an Inventor-" He chokes as I elbow him in the ribs.

"He's a scientist! Isn't that great!" I nervously laugh.

My mom chuckles. "That's wonderful!"

"So, how did you two meet? Our little girl wouldn't tell us anything about her beloved boyfriend!" My dad laughs.

I silently glare at Kisuke, who covered his mouth to try not to laugh. I just knew exactly what he was saying in his head: Little girl... I also know he's going to use that nickname for a while just to make fun of me... I slump my shoulders in defeat. Why did I choose him to be my fake boyfriend...

"We met at my shop!" He laughs nervously. "A side job, I mean... Anyways, she was very kind to me. Seemed lonely, too."

I looked at him in shock. He...he's being serious...

"Not to mention beautiful! Caught my eye right away! I just had to get her to stay-" I elbow him again. "-Right, just kidding..." He straightens up, a genuine smile on his face. "But really... I couldn't stop thinking about her after that day. So I was very happy when she came to the shop again! Since then, we became friends..." His eyes look down for only a second. He looked...sad... "And after a while, we became a couple!"

My parents goggle about his story, asking him even more questions. I wasn't paying attention to what they were saying. I was focused on Kiuske's face. His emotions. Was he...being serious...? My face flushes up again, making me cover it in embarrassment at me thinking of him like that. I really do...love him...

---------

"Safe travels home!" My parents wave at us as we walk away, my hand in Kisuke's. But, is it really for show?

I guess not, since my hand is still in his once we get to my place. "Um... Kisuke..." He hums in acknowledgement as we stand still in front of my door. "Thank you...for pretending to be my boyfriend in front of my parents... Um... I know it was a burden, so I'm also sorry for that. I just hope they don't set up dinner again." I sigh.

"Then, why don't we stop pretending?"

"Huh?!" I gasp, looking at him.

"I meant what I said. Telling the story of how we met. You're beautiful, (Y/N)... How about next time, we don't have to pretend, hmm?" He chuckles at my expression.

I look away, a blush covering my cheeks once again. "Y-you know you could've just asked me to be your girlfriend...right?"

"But that's no fun!"

"Idiot!" I smack the back of his head. "Way to ruin the moment!" I cross my arms, pouting. The warmth from his hand still lingering.

A warm sensation is suddenly felt on my cheek. I realize Kisuke has kissed me on the cheek. "Goodnight, (Y/N). I'll see you tomorrow." He smiles, pushing me a bit towards my front door as he walks off.

"You're such an idiot..." I smile, unlocking my door.

[notchesandbullets]

She’s Mine (Protective!Bakugou x Punk!Tattooed!Reader) feat. Erasermic

Warnings: racism, implied homophobia (not by anyone in the main cast), sexism, discrimination/discriminatory behavior, Modern!AU, Aged-Up!AU, features Bakugou’s parents, Erasermic, Kota, Eri, Mahoro, Katsuma and all of Class A defending you when insults start to fly.

Synopsis: This is not the first time you’re seeing Bakugou’s family but it is the first time you’re meeting his grandmother, who is not the best company to be around. He comes to your defense after you stand up for yourself and he had no qualms about sticking his face in the old hag’s because he’d be damned if he lets anyone talk to you like that. You’re his.

Words: 3.2k

“Y/N’s here!!!” Mitsuki called over her shoulder as she threw the front door wide open before you could even ring the doorbell.

Her son had texted her that you two were on their way and she was eager to see you. With the job and your relationship with her son, you two were busy bees and didn’t come around as often anymore. 

Which is why she insisted that her stubborn son at least come around for his birthday since it only happened one day out of the year. Then he could continue doing whatever it was that he was doing. 

Luckily, you were on her side and helped convince him to go just this once.

You laughed at the pitter-patter of tiny feet scampering across the cherry hardwood before dropping everything to catch the little kid that tunneled into your legs. 

“Y/N!!! You’re back!!!”

Eri’s ruby red eyes sparkled with joy as she clung to your legs.

“I missed you!!!” She shouted excitedly, hugging your knees tight.

You giggled, resting a hand on top of her head. “I missed you too, munchkin.”

Bakugou snorted behind you and you were reminded of his presence. “Oi, brat. Are you going to let us in or what?”

Eri stuck her tongue out at him childishly before dashing back inside, a trick she learned from her big brother Izuku, doubling back to grab your hand and hauled you inside with her. You casted a glance over your shoulder at your boyfriend but he shrugged, giving you the go-ahead.

He would catch up to you two troublemakers later. Besides, he knew you would want to see all the kids first. 

Kota, an orphan whose extended family gave him up for adoption, along with the siblings, Mahoro and Katsuma, were all under Aizawa’s guardianship.

After he adopted Eri, it sort of just snowballed until he was in too deep. He told Mic repeatedly that it wasn’t his fault that he had a soft spot for orphans.

His husband had merely shook his head with a laugh and hoisted Katsuma up higher so that he could reach the cupcakes they were going to sneak behind his back before dinner.

Mitsuki closed the door behind him as her son kicked off his shoes. 

“She gets that from me.” She said proudly as she gazed lovingly at Eri. She loved having her around the house. 

Since Aizawa and Mic lived relatively close, they came over often since she was feeling rather lonely with an empty nest.

Bakugou snorted. “Yeah, no shit.”

His mother glared at him for his language but didn’t reprimand him like she normally would and his eyes turned into hateful slits.

“Don’t tell me—” He started, gritting his teeth.

“They’re here.” She said with a heavy sigh.

Bakugou cursed vehemently under his breath, his brow furrowing deeply as he fought to control himself. He was banking on them not making an appearance today. 

His grandparents on his dad’s side, though he adored his grandad and thought the world of him, he absolutely could not stand his grandmother. 

She was racist, sexist, had limited views on literally everything and would raise hell if she didn’t get her way and she was a huge pain in his ass.

Even his own mother couldn’t stand her and that was saying something because she tolerated everyone to some degree, despite her odd love language when it came to him. 

They were both shit at communicating but it had gotten better as he got older. 

Now, the worst things that happened were spats here and there when they disagreed but his mother was usually good about backing off if she felt he could make the right decision for himself, which wasn’t often but it was better than none. 

Bakugou strolled inside and his eyes softened for a second when he saw you playing with Mahoro, Kota sitting on your lap as Eri was climbing all over Midoriya. You four were currently playing Monopoly and Eri exclaiming in shock as she realized she was losing since the devious Kota was slowly claiming more and more property.

“Haha!!” He cackled, rubbing his hands together evilly. “You landed on the purple one!!”

“No fair!!” Eri protested. “I don’t have enough money!!!”

“Too bad!!”

“Deku-niichan.” Eri cried, her eyes watering and you nearly fell over laughing as he frantically tried to get her to stop crying. 

The rest of his old class from college was already here, as per his mother’s request and Kirishima’s invitation.

Shinsou, Tsuyu, Todoroki and Iida were all near the food, the previous class rep serving drinks even though it wasn’t his job to play host. 

Tokoyami was currently engaged in a conversation with his dad and as Bakugou spun around the room, he realized every last one of his old classmates had shown up.

It was fucking crowded in his house. 

But the spark of joy he felt diminished the instant he saw his grandmother and he scowled, straying to your side almost protectively as her eyes burned into his back. 

This. 

This was why he didn’t fucking want her here. He didn’t want her to rain judgement upon the person who had won over his heart.

No way in hell.

Look, you weren’t fragile by any means. Your heart was filled with a healthy amount of self-esteem and you had built up your walls to protect yourself against people who had something to say about your many tattoos or piercings, yet you still were the kindest soul he had ever met. 

It was in the way you walked and interacted with people, a genuine smile always present on your features as you gave them more respect than most would give you upon first glance.

Bakugou knew you could handle yourself but you shouldn’t have to with his own fucking relatives. That shit was messed up. 

You glanced at your boyfriend out of the corner of your eye and your gaze dropped down to where his hands were clenched into fists, jaw locked tight and you sigh, softly urging Kota to get up and continue playing with Mahoro and Katsuma until you got back.

The boy grumbled but did as you asked, easily getting swept up in the competition of the game as you drifted to Bakugou’s side.

“I know that look,” You murmured into his ear, your hand covering his as you ignored the idle chatter coming from your friends and family around you. “What’s wrong?”

Bakugou clenched his teeth and debated about it for a second.

“Nothing.” He spat out eventually, choosing to deal with the old hag himself and you let him go when he stomped off, knowing that Kirishima or Kaminari would handle whatever it was that just happened if he didn’t want to talk to you about it. 

Momo greeted you warmly and a smile slipped onto your face as though it had never left. 

You hadn’t bothered to dress all that nice or different from your usual getup, feeling more comfortable in leather and all black that looked like you just came from a rock concert but you got the feeling that not everyone was feeling it as much as Jirou was when she came over to compliment you on your fashion taste.

Shoji and Koda each greeted you respectively and before you knew it, the catered dinner arrived and it was finally time to eat. The judging look you had been aware of from someone you didn’t recognize passing by as you brushed it off as unimportant and focused on helping Mitsuki set the table. 

You clapped your hands gleefully when Eri pitched in to help, complimenting her on how well of a job she did as she finished and you beamed at her when she smiled up at you.

Of course, Aizawa needed to help her since he didn’t want her to stand on a chair and lose her balance but it was easy enough to lift her up. She wasn’t that big yet. 

He had already told Mic he was dreading the day when she would grow up and have to leave home to start her own life and his husband patted him on the back sympathetically, reassuring him that it wouldn’t be the end of the world. 

They loved their children and their children absolutely adored them. 

You had told them as such on more than one occasion since they got insecure that they weren’t adequate parents but you reassured them that they were perfectly imperfect.

They put their kids’ health, safety and happiness before everything else and did everything they could for them. 

You wished your own parents had done that for you. 

As soon as you set down the place settings for everyone and called everyone in for dinner, they flooded the huge dining table that overflowed into the living area to accommodate everyone. 

Bakugou had left for a second to grab something from his old bedroom, promising to be back right away and you reassured him that you would be fine. 

You were barely into helping Mic convince a stubborn Kota to take a spoonful of green beans onto his plate, Shinsou helping Aizawa with Mahoro’s vegetable serving, when a throat cleared itself loudly.

The lively chatter died all around the table died down as grey eyes pierced your own and you stiffened but held your ground. 

You knew that look, you had seen it too many times. 

The older woman opened her mouth and spoke.

“So, you’re my grandson’s girlfriend?” She enunciated, looking you up and down from where she was sitting at the head of the table, her hands setting down her knitting project to glare at you. “I don’t see why he’s dating you.”

The expressions of shock at her vulgar words made several of your friends angry in your defense, Iida and Todoroki trembling in anger and Mina’s eyes narrowed as she dropped her happy-go-lucky personality in favor of ripping her a new one. 

But before any of them could act, she was continuing evenly.

“For someone who doesn’t know how to dress properly and looks like that, I mean, it’s already bad enough that your skin is that color, my dear, and you’ve ruined it even further with those ugly things.” She spat, unaware of the wrath she was evoking from every single person in the room. 

Kaminari’s electric eyes glowed as he saw red. “Bad enough?” 

“Excuse me?” Shoji seethed with unparalleled anger rising up in his chest, a rare sight for the normally calm and collected man.

Jirou, Ochako and Momo were furious at the way she was talking down to you and they shared a look amongst themselves, communicating wordlessly that this wasn’t going to be allowed to get out of hand any longer.

Kirishima was visibly shaking and even the normally shy Koda was fuming in his seat, openly glaring at the elderly woman who spewed insults at you. 

A chair scraped back as Midoriya shot up but you shook your head, holding your finger up to your lips as you subtly gestured for everyone to hold back. 

Aizawa’s nostrils flared from where he was covering Eri’s ears while several of his former students took care of the rest of the kids to make sure they wouldn’t hear this.

To their horror, the grandmother wasn’t even close to being done as she pointed a gnarly finger at you.

“Your job as a girl is to stay in the kitchen and attend to your husband. To even think you’re worth anything if you weren’t involved with my grandson is absurd.” She hissed at you venously, her skewed ideals rooted deeply in her beliefs and how she was raised. “You are a disgrace to even breathe the same air as someone like me.”

“Mother!!”

Bakugou’s father frantically tried to amend what had been done and Mitsuki was about to yell at her but you stopped her. 

Everyone’s eyes turned on you as you took a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but I won’t apologize for being who I am.” You said quietly but firmly, failing to notice someone coming down the stairs and overhearing your steady words as they flowed from your lips like honey. 

Not tricks. Just genuine sympathy, like you didn’t even hear her say all those horrible things to you. 

It was supposed to be your boyfriend’s day and you weren’t going to ruin it for him in the same manner that she had just done. 

“I understand what you’re saying, but don’t you think that we should be allowed to love who we love?” 

You inclined your head slightly, allowing a sliver of the emotion you felt to slip onto your face as you glanced pointedly as Aizawa and Mic.

After you noticed her staring so openly at you, you also noticed that she would scowl whenever the two men would walk in the room and play with their kids and while you would take whatever she was going to throw at you, you weren’t going to tolerate the same for them.

They didn’t deserve that.

Holding up your arm, you inspected the ink running up and down the length of it. “As for my appearance, my style is my own. I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”

There were a couple of snickers from Jirou, Kaminari, Sero and Mineta as you put her in his place and Todoroki leaned back in his seat, gazing up at you proudly as you stood your ground without firing any hate back at the old woman. 

Hagakure clapped her hands jubilantly as a few cheers of agreement sounded around from the table but you had one more thing to say. 

Your eyes softened. “I understand how you may feel about me, but I don’t need your acceptance. I love myself just as I am and if Katsuki ever feels differently about me and we split, then we’ll split. But please do not judge my love for him based on how you believe I should be. I am who I am and I won’t ever apologize for that.”

“And you never fucking have to.”

Bakugou strolled into the dining area, smirking at the old hag who had the nerve to look shocked at his appearance. Of course she would be so fucking disgusting to say something this horrible to you when he wasn’t within earshot. 

Bitch. 

Blood relations didn’t excuse behavior. 

Narrowing his vermilion eyes at his grandmother, he faced her head on as he took your hand into his. 

“She’s my fucking girlfriend.” He declared, tenacity and stubbornness dripping off of his tone as he snarled at his grandmother. “And if you ever speak to her like that again—”

He nodded in time to Mic and Aizawa, the men who had mentored him and taught him almost everything he knew. 

“Or either of them, including the rest of these shitheads, I’ll fucking kill you.”

The veiled threat hung in the air and you squeaked as Bakugou abruptly dragged you to the front door.

“Where are you going?!” Mitsuki cried out, worried that you both were going to leave without eating anything and she was sad to think that her mother-in-law had driven you away.

Bakugou gnashed his teeth at the confused clamour that arose from his classmates. “Out!! We’ll be back later!!”

You could hardly get a word in edgewise as he dragged you all the way out to the car after barely giving you enough time to put on your shoes.

“Katsuki!! What—”

Your bewildered protests were interrupted as he whirled around and kissed you hard. You melted into his touch as his hot palms settled on your hips, pulling you flush against him. Whining softly when he pulled away, you panted as he breathed hard against you, his exhales fanning out over your face.

You were in a daze as he led you to the car, buckling you in before he got in the driver’s seat. 

And he drove, taking a detour that would take him towards the countryside where there were no people, no places, just you and him. 

Just how he liked it. 

The painted lavenders and pale pinks of the setting sun faded to midnight black with stars twinkling high above you as you cruised around for hours before he finally spoke. 

“I’m sorry.” He apologized quietly and you immediately grabbed his hand that wasn’t currently occupied with steering.

“No!! You don’t have anything to apologize for—”

“Yes I do.”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel a fraction as he slowly explained that if he had told you earlier about what she was capable of instead of ranting to his best friend like an idiot, maybe he could’ve—

“Katuski.”

Your soft murmur brought him back down to planet Earth and you shook your head firmly. 

“It’s not your fault.” You told him without wavering once as he brought the car to a stop just at the edge of the trail. “I don’t blame you at all.”

Bakugou slammed his hand against the steering wheel angrily. “Yes it fucking is!!!”

He ranted and he ranted about how he had come downstairs only to hear his own flesh and blood spitting those vile insults that you didn’t deserve at all. 

You didn’t deserve it at all.

You were quiet when he finished and when his chest was heaving with the spent rage he had aired out, you asked, “Feel better?”

“Like hell I do!!!” He snapped at you, about to go off again when he noticed the bemused expression on your face. “What the fuck, dumbass?”

You tilted your head in confusion. “Huh?”

“Why the hell aren’t you bothered at all?” He questioned, genuinely flabbergasted. 

Eyes clearing in understanding, you traced the back of his hand with your fingers. “Because it doesn’t bother me.”

At the sight of Bakugou opening his mouth, you hurried out, “I mean, do you really think someone like that gets to cut me down? Her words don’t mean anything to me.”

You hesitated and opened yourself a little bit, trusting him not to take advantage of your weakness because while her words stung in the moment, it was nothing your heart couldn’t come back from. But…

“If you were to say them, it would hurt a lot more, but I don’t think you would— eep!!”

You yelped as he dragged you over to his seat, yanking at the seatbelt that got in the way, but pulled you to his chest once he released the safety clip.

“Never.” He breathed against your hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I would fucking never.”

You closed your eyes. “I know.”

There, in his car, you two stayed in a tight embrace under the stars until you it got late enough that you insisted you should go back and at least spend the rest of the time with your friends, which, if their sleeping schedules hadn’t changed since college, there was a good chance almost all of them would still be up.

So Bakugou drove you both back, his heart a little more at ease after he got to hold you close and be alone with you. 

That was all he wanted.

Well… He thought to himself as he unconsciously brushed his left hand over the small velvet box that had been hastily stuffed in his pocket the second he grabbed it from his room.

That and one other thing.

[racheloveyunho]

Till Death do us part - 1

Y/N grew up in a wealthy family, she always was seen as a beautiful and smart kid and was most likely to take her father’s place as the CEO of one of the most important companies in South Korea. However, after the death of her mother, Y/N’s family slowly started to break apart. Her father was always working to forget his uncalled pain while his kids were left alone at home.

She was 17 years old when her life took a sudden turn when she met him in a dark alley. He was a bloody mess, bruises everywhere but behind blood and dirt, she could see his beautiful features and his addictive gaze. Maybe she should have walked away, maybe she shouldn’t have helped him, but the moment his gaze locked with hers, she was already his.

Choi San was his name.

Genre: Mafia AU, angst, fluff, stranger to lovers

Words: 2486

 TW: Y/N is described as an OC. Please be aware that this story will contain a lot of triggering content such as smut, blood, death, murder, drug, kidnapping, etc. Do not read if you are under a legal age!

Chapter 1

 I still wonder what would have happened if I didn’t meet him during this gloomy night? We were young and I was way too brave for my own good. Maybe it was my faith or maybe it was a sheer coincidence but now, I know that I will love him till death do us part.

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 5 years ago.

 "Hey Y/N, wake up sleepyhead! It’s time to go to school and I will surely not wait for the princess to wake up" my brother yelled loudly from the first floor, waking me up in the process.

I groaned and shifted uncomfortably in my bed; it was too much noise at such an early time of the day. My long-browned hair was messy from the last night, as always. I was the type of girl to move a lot during my sleep and my morning head was always a funny one, swollen, with small eyes and with some of my lightly curled hair stuck in my mouth. After five minutes of rethinking my life decisions, I found enough motivation to get out of my bed and walked down the stairs.

"Why the hell did I agree to help other students during holidays, huh?” I asked my brother as I lazily rubbed my tummy.

“Maybe because you are too dumb to say no to your teachers?” he answered, his mouth full of food.

“Do you mind keeping your mouth shut while you are eating? It’s disgusting.” I shook my head disapprovingly.

I headed toward the kitchen to get a cup of fresh milk. Jin, my brother, childishly opened his mouth wide to show me the content of it. I let out a long “Ew!” before smashing his arm playfully.

“No, but seriously Y/N. There’s no use to be brilliant at school if that means you have to help your classmates with their studies during holidays” Jin said after taking a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah, but the teacher who asked me this favor told me that he will write a recommendation for me if I agreed to help him” I answered.

“You don’t even need a recommendation, we’re from a rich family” Jin mumbled to himself but it was loud enough for me to hear it.

 He wasn’t totally wrong and I knew it. We were born with a silver spoon in our mouth. We were “cake eater” as the other kids used to call us when we were younger, we never knew what it felt like to run out of money and everyone at school was jealous of me because of that.

But they didn’t know. No one knew how hard it actually was for me and my brother.

My mother passed away 2 years ago, and since then, my father didn’t stay at home with us longer than a week straight. He was always working, working, and working again, his job had literally become his life. He was one of the richest men in Korea and still, he was always eager for more and worked every day and night for it.

He wasn’t a good father for me and Jin. He never made any compliments to us, all he was able to do was to pressure us to be as perfect as possible or at least perfect enough to not ashamed him and his reputation. Unlike my brother, I wanted to hear my father say that he was proud of me, just for once. That’s why I was trying hard to be the perfect daughter, with good grades, good manners, and good appearance but even if I tried my best, it wasn’t enough for him.

 “Do you know why I’m working so hard, Jin?” I asked him, voice as soft as a whisper, almost not daring to tell the truth.

“Why?” Jin put a hand on the top of mine, a sign of comfort since he already knew my upcoming answer.

“I don’t want to follow his rules forever. I’m still a minor so I had to stick at them but when I’ll turn 20, I will leave this house and will never come back” I sadly stated, “I want to marry a man I’m in love with, I want to do a job I like and most of all, I don’t want our father to commend my life.”

 Jin tightened his grip on my hand. He understood me, he understood me too well. We were indeed rich but we were far from being happy. Jin was 6 years older than me which means he was already an adult. He wanted to leave this house as much as me but couldn’t bring himself to do so and leave me behind.

Unlike me, Jin has never been a good student, he always has been considered a failure to our father, and even if he finally was able to run away from here, he stayed there for me. I was really lucky to have a brother like him and I was well aware of that.

 I took my breakfast and came back to my room to take a quick shower and get ready for this day I knew would be exhausting.

My brother was already waiting in his car. Jin took me to school as often as he could. He was working on a supermarket he owned and even if he was pretty busy, he wanted to spend his mornings with his “sweet baby sister” as he liked to call me.

I am indeed lucky to have a brother like him.

 8 pm, it was already late when I heard the bell ring for the last time today. I was the last one to leave the class as I helped my teacher with the preparation of some material for the next day. It didn’t bother me too much, I wasn’t in a hurry to get home since I knew my dad was finally coming back home from his work.

In all honesty, I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t miss him at all, even after all this time. I wandered here and there even though the street was already pitch black.

 “Oh! It’s been a while since I last went to the haunted alley!” I happily exclaimed to myself.

I knew every nook and cranny of Seoul, I grew up there after all. My favorite place was the haunted alley. As its name suggests and according to some beliefs, that path would be haunted.

It was an old story I heard with my friends when I was less than 10 years old. A grandma from our neighborhood scolded us and told us not to stay there because there was a woman who had been murdered in the walkway and that since then, one could hear her cry every night.

A simple way to scare naïve kids you may think, and you are more than right. However, this story is known by everyone, not just by kids. That’s the reason why I love this place, thanks to all of these rumors, no one uses this path except me. It was like my secret place.

 I walked around the alley with heavy steps, thinking about my father and his upcoming lecture about how to be a good girl. My thoughts were suddenly stopped by the voice of two men who seemed to be fighting each other. I stayed still for a moment, trying to figure out where the noises were coming from.

“You piece of shit! And you claim yourself as the Boss” son?” One voice laughed.

I hid in the dark and saw what could have been mistaken with a scene from a horror movie. Between two old houses, a tall man was beating up a boy who seemed to be around my age.

I felt shivers down my spine but before I could even think straight, my body started to move with its own will.

“Hey! Let him go!” I shouted, my voice betraying me by showing how scared I really was.

 I moved closer to the two men, I could now see them more clearly.

The young boy was sitting on the ground, badly bleeding, whereas the tall man was standing in front of him, blood on his hand and his nose broken.

They were watching me. The silence was heavy, the only thing I could hear was the beating of my racing heart and the shake of my knees that were begging me to run away from this place. The silence was soon replaced by an ominous laugh.

“Wow. What a beauty! Is she your girlfriend? Huh?” The tall man laughed and hit the youngest on his stomach before coming closer to me.

He came closer, until he was in front of me. I had a better view of his poor state. He wasn’t less bleeding than the other man, his blood was actually covering his whole face.

I don’t know what had taken into me at this exact moment, the adrenaline was rushing in my veins and even though my feet were stuck on the ground, unable to move, my hand reached the pepper spray I always carried in my bag. Before the man could react, I used my weapon against him.

When the chemical product had reached his eyes, he screamed and placed his hands on his face, trying desperately to soothe the pain. I took advantage of the situation and kicked him as hard as I could on his crotch before he fell loudly on the ground.

I quickly grabbed the boy by his arm and helped him stand up. He was badly injured but followed me without any complaint.

 I was panting when I reached a lighted street. We stopped there, trying to catch our breath.  I turned around to face the man I was still holding and my breath hitched in my throat, not from the run I previously had but because of how beautiful this man looked.

“Are you okay? What is your name?” I asked him but he simply stayed silent, staring at me with his piercing eyes.

I took a better look at his features, he was really handsome with a well-defined face. He wasn't older than me but he hadn't the body of a teenager either. His broad shoulders and his arms muscles could be seen without any effort from him. His dark hair was harmonizing with the dark of his eyes and his dimples were visible as the border of his lips turned upright in an inviting smirk.

How can someone like him be involved in such a fight?

“The sight is at your taste?” he giggled, his smile spreading wider.

I finally took notice of my staring when I heard him laugh. I must say it was the most beautiful laugh I ever heard, slightly high-pitched but almost bewitching.

“I wasn’t staring!” I shouted from embarrassment. Fortunately, the darkness of the night was covering the redness on my cheeks.

“Sure, you weren’t” He added, amused by my reaction “I’m San. Choi San. I didn’t need your help earlier but thank you, I’m glad you rescued me”

He came closer to me and gave me a sincere smile, showing even more his dimples.

My heart was going crazy in my chest. This boy seemed small earlier compared to the other man but he was way taller than me, maybe 7 inches taller.

“You’re welcome”

I was a bit intimidated by him but I dared not to look away. He had something special, an aura that seemed as dangerous as comforting. His gaze was intense and deep, it was like he was looking through me, memorizing every detail of my face.

He didn’t move and didn’t talk for at least 2 minutes and even if I was feeling uncomfortable, I did my best not to let him know.

“Where is your house?” he finally asked after what felt like an eternity.

He startled me with his sudden question, I didn’t expect him to talk this soon. Why did he want to know where I lived? He probably wanted to walk me home and I would have gladly let this handsome guy walk me home if I hadn’t met him in an odd situation.

‘But he is really handsome…’  I thought, sighing softly, making San arch an eyebrow.

“It’s okay, I live near here, no need to walk me home. You can go ahead…” I said “Go ahead to…the hospital, your house or…go murdering someone…whichever comes first” I added, lowering my voice at the end of my sentence.

His face changed into a surprised expression “I wasn’t going to walk you home, don’t worry”

I sighed in relief even if I felt a bit disappointed, maybe he wasn't that bad after all.

“I want to stalk you” he stared at me with his beautiful smile as if it was the most natural thing to say.

‘What the fuck?’

“Sure, stalking me haha, it was obvious, silly me!” I gently hit my head and laughed awkwardly, taking a step back from him.

He laughed sweetly and took my chin between his thumb and his index to lift my face up. His mouth came closer to my ear and he whispered a small “Just joking” before turning his heels back and leaving me, alone, in the dark street.

  I was finally back home. Fortunately for me, my dad hadn’t noticed me since he was already sleeping on the couch.

I quickly went upstairs to my room and collapsed on my bed, my mind still processing what had happened earlier. It was scary to say the least but fascinating at the same time. I was still confused even after showering. This San had a deep effect on me, not only mentally but physically too.

“Choi San…” I muttered before closing my eyes and drifting into a deep sleep.

---------

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This is my first story, it’s bad but I’ll try to improve myself!

This series will be uploaded slowly since I don't have a lot of time.

Thank you for reading!

[howlingday]

Jaune: (Walking through the forest with Yang, Looks at a wanted poster on a tree) Hey, Yang, who's that? She kind of looks like you.

Yang: That's Raven Branwen, the supposed "Bandit Queen" around here. Don't bother getting involved with her. She'd just make you look stupid. (Sighs, Looks away) It wouldn't be the first time.

Jaune: ...Right. (Touches her hand) Yang, you know I love you, right?

Yang: ...Yeah, I know. (Holds his hand, Doesn't look at him) Even if you don't deserve someone like me.

Jaune: (Pulls his hand away) What do you mean? Are you saying I'm not good enough for you?

Yang: (Looks at him) What?! No! I know we've only been dating for a few months, but it's not like that! If anything, it's the other way around!

Jaune: (Angry) So you're saying you're too good for me now?!

Yang: No! Argh! You are so annoying right now! What I meant was- (A loud thud is heard nearby, Gunfire explodes in the distance) What was that?

From the treeline, a band of armed thugs barrel out waving their weapons around, hooting and hollering, roaring and barking as they circle the couple. A tree falls, it's trunk sliced clean as a woman with black hair and red eyes walks forward. She sheathes her sword as she sways her hips. She looks exactly like the woman in the wanted poster, becauseshe is the woman from the wanted poster; Raven Branwen.

Raven: Don't waste your breath with her. (Stops in front of the couple) She never understood true power, even when it stared her in the face.

Jaune: Wait, you're-

Raven: Raven Branwen, Bandit Queen. (Bandits roar and cheer until they're silenced by Raven's extended hand, She leans forward into Jaune's face) And you are just my type.

Jaune: (Blushing) Uh, you look just like my girlfriend.

Raven: Well, she is my daughter.

Yang: Stop leering at her, you perv! And you, I thought you didn't want anything to do with me!

Raven: I didn't, but when Tai told me about this boy you're dating, I had to see for myself. He reminds me a lot of him. (Licks her lips) I bet he tastes the same, too. Shay! Vernal!

Shay & Vernal: Yes, ma'am!

Raven: Make sure she doesn't interfere. I want to play with my food right now

Shay & Vernal: Yes, ma'am!

Raven: What's your name, handsome?

Jaune: Uh, Jaune. Jaune Arc.

Raven: Mm, short, sweet, and rolls off the tongue. I bet the ladies love it.

Jaune: Uh...

Raven: If you didn't hear, I'm Raven Branwen. But, the only thing you'll call me from now on is either ma'am or mommy.

Jaune: (Chuckling) That's funny. I like you, Ms. Branwen!

Yang: (Thinking) What is she doing?! Is she... trying to steal Jaune?! (Shakes her head) Whatever! Jaune loves me! He won't surrender to her! ...But we did have that fight just now. He might actually leave me for her. ...No! I just have to put my faith in Jaune! I know he'll stay with me!

Raven: Now, Jaune, what say we have some fun?

Raven unsheathes Omen, taking a combative stance in front of Jaune, who, in turn, unsheathes Crocea Mors. Raven swings at Jaune, holding back her strength as she tests Jaune's skill. Soon, Jaune is beading with sweat as Raven lazily parries and swings at him. Jaune slips into her guard, forcing her to jump back. She chuckles as she watches him pant.

Raven: Not bad, boy. Not bad at all.

Jaune: This... This is too much! I can see why you're the Bandit Queen now.

Raven: What are you staring so hard at me for, boy? You want me? Here, (Takes off her armor, Her perfect-fit clothing underneath leaves nothing to the imagination) have a closer look.

Jaune: (Stammers, Looks to Yang)

Yang: Stop showing off like that, Mom! Why couldn't you just stay out of my love life like dad? In fact, why don't you just stay out of my life?!

Shay: Hey, kid, settle down!

Vernal: Queen Raven ordered us to keep you in place, so that's what we're going to do.

Yang: And having your goons keep me from kicking your butt?! You're the worst!

Raven: Your boyfriend doesn't seem to think that. Just look at how he's panting just from being near me. (Jaune gulps) Tell me, Jaune. What do you like most about me? Is it my lovely hair? My intoxicating scent? Or is something else catching your eyes?

Jaune: C-Can we go back to fighting, please?!

Yang: Why are you dodging the question, you creep?! (Thinking) I'm losing him. It's subtle, but... There's no doubt about it. It can't end like this. Not after everything we've been through!

Raven: Remember this, Jaune; there's a difference between a girl and a woman. Allow me to show you the difference.

Raven swings with more intent this time, forcing Jaune to block and dodge with more caution, as she now kicks at any opening she finds. Jaune slips into her guard again, forcing the two to lock blades. However, Raven takes advantage of this to blow a kiss at Jaune, who flinches and jumps away. Raven follows up with thrust, parry, and slice combination. Jaune noticed Raven switched to a two-handed style, and decided to respond in kind. The battle became more even as Raven began sweating from the effort she was putting in. Jaune leaped away, panting, and stuck his sword into the dirt.

Jaune: Okay, I'm done! I've had enough, Ms. Branwen!

Raven: Aw, what's the matter, baby. Are you losing focus from watching me move so gracefully? I'll bet you have so many nasty thoughts running through your head right now. (Rips open her shirt a little, revealing her cleavage) You want me so bad, don't you?

Yang: (Tears streaming from her eyes, Thinking) That's it. I've lost him. There's no way he doesn't want her after that. It's how she tricked Dad into loving her. (Crying) But, he can't just leave me for her! She just wants to use him as a plaything. If he left me, I at least want to be sure he'll be safe from any harm, but she... It's all my fault. All because of that stupid argument, he's going to leave me all alone!

Jaune: Ugh! Just shut the fuck up already!

Yang: Huh? (Realizes Jaune's holding her)

Raven: Excuse me?!

Jaune: I'm sick of hearing you talk! You're fucking weird, the way you talk to me makes me feel like a baby, and the fact you're putting down your own daughter just to impress a stranger like me, (Glares at Raven, Grinds his teeth) it makes me so fucking furious, I can't stand it! How could you say such foul shit about your daughter?! (Takes a deep breath, Holds Yang close) I love your daughter. I only love your daughter. I mean, yeah, you're attractive, with your nice-smelling hair and your curves and your swordplay, but that doesn't matter. But I wouldn't even be fawning over you if I knew how horrible you really were! (Feels Yang hugging him, Sighs) I'm sorry, baby. I just... I just got so upset when you said I wasn't good enough for you.

Yang: (Sniffs) I wasn't talking about you not being good enough; I was talking about me not being good enough for you. I got so worried that you'd abandon me, I couldn't bear it. I'm sorry it came out wrong to you. I just think you're so amazing, okay? You always rise up against any challenge, even when you know the odds aren't in your favor. You fought bullies, Grimm, my dad, and even the White Fang! You have so much confidence, I can't imagine why you would think you're not good enough! (Sobs) I love you, Jaune! I feel like if you left me, I would literally die!

Jaune: (Shushes her, Pets her hair) I love you, too, and I know what you mean. I feel like... It's like our souls are connected, you know? (Chuckles, Tear rolls down his eye) I'm sorry I'm so corny, and for our fight earlier.

Yang: (Chuckles) It's okay. I like us being corny, and I love that you can be so honest with me.

Jaune: (Chuckles, Kisses the top of her head) I'm so lucky I have you.

Raven: (Holding herself, Panting and squirming) Oh, this feeling~.

Jaune: (Looks up) Huh? (Looks over, Sees Raven half-naked and steaming with a dangerous aura) Uh...

Raven: Oh, Tai hasn't made me feel like this in such a long time~.

Yang: (Gulps) Raven?

Raven: But you, Jaune, (Lewd and wide smile, Sultrily chuckles) you're a whole different breed~! (Points Omen at him, Drooling) You're a man who knows how to put a bitch like me in her place and shows love to his girl after some tramp disses her! (She looks down, Hiding her face) It might be the bare minimum, but... (Looks up, Hungry eyes) I just have to have you! Now pick up the sword and listen carefully, because if you lose this fight, I'm going to make you my new slave! (Chuckles) Who knows? Maybe in a few years, you'll make for a fine bandit.

Shay: Wait, we used to be something before being bandits?

Raven: You can't refuse this, handsome, otherwise I'll kill Yang and give you no choice.

Jaune: Shit. Yang, this doesn't look good.

Yang: Hey, now, that's not the Jaune Arc I love! (Hands him Crocea Mors, Kisses his cheek) Kick her ass for me, okay, baby?

Jaune: (Takes Crocea Mors, Smiles) You got it, baby!

Vernal: Listen up, everyone! Our queen is about to go all out! The odds of her leaving us alive grow slimmer by the second! Know that all of you have been like family to me!

Shay: Even me?

Vernal: Shut up, Shay.

Raven: By the way, handsome, I don't want this to be over too soon, so keep that sword of yours in it's longsword form to keep it interesting. Because this shit's finna get nutty!

Raven wastes no time attacking Jaune, forcing him to block. He's pushed back several feet before side-stepping away. Raven continues until a red portal opens in her path, and she disappears into it. Jaune loses sight of her and barely has enough time to duck as she flies in from behind to strike. He rolls away, but Raven charges again, striking wildly with swings and thrusts. Jaune's muscles ache as he's forced to block and parry. Raven runs towards him again, disappearing into another portal. He looks behind, but doesn't see her. Yang warns him of the strike from above, and he leaps away in time. He notices a golden necklace on the ground, recognizing it from one of the bandits. Unfortunately, Raven was relentless as she continued her assault, and Jaune couldn't afford to stop and think. He decided to go on the offensive this time, clashing with her. When she was pushed back, he charged forward, but ran into her portal, and right into Vernal. The bandit lieutenant jumped away as Jaune thrusted, and he apologized as he she did. He turned in time to catch Raven's blade, but she disappeared as she retreated, using her portal repeatedly to confuse him. Jaune dropped his sword and stepped forward to the golden necklace. He tossed it into the air, forcing Raven to dive to him with her blade extended. She cackled with mad glee as she forced him to fall backwards, only to reel in pain when he kicked her in the face and away from Omen. Raven sprawled and climbed to her knees, looking at Jaune from the wrong end of her weapon.

Raven: (Panting) Jaune... That was... amazing... I feel so... exhilarated... You sapped me of all my juices. Or, well, at least half of my aura, anyways. I know you won, but couldn't you please reconsider and join my family?

Jaune: I don't want you! Damn! (Throws Omen aside) I'm with your daughter because I love her! I love her hair! I love her smell! I love her curves!

Raven: W-What are you saying?!

Jaune: I'm saying I love big-tittied bitches! Mostly your daughter, but the others are cool, too, I guess!

Yang: (Snickers, Covers her mouth)

Jaune: Also, you just let "your family" almost die in our fight! Who the hell does that?!

Raven: (Scoffs) The family knows the tribe is nothing without their queen. If they were worthy, they would be willing to die for me. (Stands up, Shakes her head) Such a sentimental fool. No wonder you're together. (Picks up Omen, Walks away with her tribe) You can have him, Yang.

Yang: ...Thank you, Raven.

Jaune: Wait, that's it?

Raven: Yeah, I don't need any bleeding hearts in my tribe. But you have my blessing, whatever that might mean to you. (Thinking) Fuck, now I'm thinking about him again. I should go chat with him. It has been a few months since our last "reunion."

[alittleimagine]

just a favor pt. 2

derek hale x reader

prologue part 1

The Hale house outside San Francisco was smaller than the house Derek had taken over when his parents had left Beacon Hills behind, but it was still larger than you expected. 

Your ideas of San Francisco and the surrounding areas always involved narrow homes on steep hills, and to be fair the majority of your knowledge regarding the housing market came from Kira, but the warm-toned two-story in front of you had space to breathe. You were reminded again of Malia’s vague comments on Hale family money. 

Tearing your eyes from the house you looked over at Derek and the tense set of his jaw. You gave his side a gentle nudge with your elbow and took the bottle of wine you’d brought as a gift from his death grip. “Hey,” you said, voice low, “I thought I already told you everything would be fine.”

He watched you for a long moment. “Where exactly do you get all this unbridled confidence from?”

You smiled. Adjusting your hold on the wine bottle you looped your arm with his and started walking toward the green door. “Sometimes you just gotta fake it till you make it.” 

The look he was giving you had the potential to throw you off your game if you weren’t careful. You winked at him and rang the doorbell. 

The moment stretched out as you waited for the door to open. You wouldn’t tell Derek, he was a ball of tension already, but you had some worries. You weren’t a psychopath- a lot could go wrong and any sane person would be concerned, but you meant what you’d said. Confidence, real or imagined, did wonders. 

You had been expecting his mom or dad, but it was Cora who opened the door. 

Cora had visited Beacon Hills sometime during the summer and you had met when she’d arrived at a movie night. You couldn’t say you knew each other well, but she’d appreciated your knack for driving Stiles nuts. 

Rather than welcome you both in she leaned against the door frame and crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at Derek. The oversized zip-up she wore over a sports bra was very in keeping with what you knew of her. 

“Your girlfriend is Y/N?” She asked. It was difficult to say if she was skeptical or just giving Derek a hard time.

Derek sighed hard. “Clearly.” 

Cora narrowed her eyes, seconds ticking by, then shrugged. “That tracks. Come on in.” Derek glared holes into her back as she led the way while you tried not to laugh. 

“Dad!” She shouted through the house. “Derek’s here! And he actually brought someone.” 

You felt Derek huff beside you. “No, Cora, don’t worry. I didn’t want an actual greeting or anything. Just suspicion.” 

She grinned at him over her shoulder, ignoring his sarcasm. “Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

You couldn’t help but snort at Derek’s unimpressed look. Sibling irritation had relaxed him though and he moved your hand from his arm to hold in his own (warm, calloused, distracting) as you followed Cora into what you presumed was the kitchen. 

There, cutting carrots at the kitchen island, was Alexander Hale. Derek had shown you pictures of his parents during your prep meetings, but you could have picked his dad out of a lineup without any help. 

It was like looking into the future. His dad’s hair had begun greying on the sides of his head and he wore black-rimmed glasses, but you could picture Derek in a couple of decades looking just like him. Derek was broader, perhaps, but you had to wonder if he’d inherited anything from his mother. 

Dr. Hale (you were sure to remind yourself of his doctoral degree in Gender Studies) smiled wide at the sight of you both. He set his knife down and wiped his hands on a dishtowel before rounding the island to embrace his son. “Derek! Happy Thanksgiving. How was traffic? Not too bad I hope. And this must be the girlfriend Laura told us about.”

He didn’t give Derek a chance to answer before focusing on you. 

“Y/N.” You said, holding a hand out to shake. “Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Hale.”

His handshake was warm and firm, and the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Oh, just Al is fine. None of the doctor stuff. I’m glad Derek brought you along. He can be so private sometimes. Gets it from his mother.”

Derek groaned. “Dad. Come on.”

Al was unperturbed. “The turkey is already in the oven.” He said to you. “I’m just working on some stuffing and a few things to pick at-” He stopped himself short. “Wait. Do you like turkey? We didn’t make a ham. But, we can have Laura pick something up on her way in.”

Before you could reassure him that you loved turkey Cora spoke up. 

She’d moved to lean on the counter by the cutting board and held a baby carrot in her hand. ���Do you know if she even eats meat?” She took a loud bite of the carrot, reveling in her dad’s reaction. 

Al looked horrified. “Oh my god, I didn’t ask if you were vegan or vegetarian.” You could see him trying to think back to everything he was cooking for the night. 

“I eat meat.” You were quick to assure. “And I love turkey. I promise. I love Thanksgiving food.”

Though he sighed in relief the look of worry hadn’t faded from his face. “Are you sure? We can set something up.”

You could see Derek shake his head as he moved to take the wine bottle from you. “Cora’s just messing with you, dad. I would have told you if she was a vegetarian.” 

Satisfied Al returned to his post as the cutting board. “Well, just let us know if you don’t like something, alright.” 

“Don’t worry. I’m not shy about speaking my mind.” You said. 

Derek nodded his confirmation before crossing the kitchen to retrieve a couple of glasses. “Water?” When you nodded he began filling the glasses, remembering you didn’t like ice in yours. “Where’s mom?” He asked. “Is Laura not in town yet?”

“Your mom is taking a call upstairs,” Al said, focusing on his chopping while Cora continued to eat stray carrots. “Laura is in town, they just arrived, but they checked into a hotel. Said it would be easier for the night.”

You’d never met Derek’s older sister though she’d visited Beacon Hills earlier in the year. You did know she was married to a Noah with a three-year-old girl named Alina and a baby boy on the way. She’d been the one Derek first lied to.

“What about Malia?” His dad asked. “I know she said they were doing a Thanksgiving brunch with Kira’s family before driving out.” 

Derek nodded. “Yeah. They should be here in an hour or two.” He paused and wrinkled his nose. “Is Peter coming?”

His dad shook his head. 

You knew Peter was Malia’s biological father and Derek’s maternal uncle and the relationship there was strained on all ends, but Malia had been working on it. A thought struck you, but you’d address it later. 

“Why don’t you go get settled in.” Al said. “You guys are going to be in the room at the end of the hall. Malia and Kira are taking Cora’s room and Cora is sleeping in the living room tonight.” 

Cora scowled. “Just because I’m not dating anyone.” She had been living with her parents while she attended the UCSF School of Medicine for sports medicine. You wouldn’t have loved being kicked out of your room either.

“I know, but it just makes sense, honey. It’s just one night.” 

“I’m bringing a girlfriend next year.” She muttered to herself.

Derek mussed up her hair before gesturing for you to lead the way out of the kitchen. 

Your bags, small as they were, had been left in the car and you watched as he grabbed them both, shaking his head when you offered to carry your own. The sun was high in the sky, but it was still chilly out and you wrapped your arms around yourself as he dug through the car to make sure nothing was left behind. 

“Hey, I have a question.” 

Derek gave you a curious look. “Yeah?”

“Peter is your mother’s brother, right?” 

Derek nodded and something in his expression made you think he already knew where this was going. “You’re wondering why everyone is a Hale?”

“Yes.” 

He smiled. “Dad took mom’s name when they got married. He does lectures all the time on how weird it is that surnames are patrilineal and when the time came for them to get married he said he had to put his money where his mouth was.” He’d clearly explained this multiple times in the past. 

You grinned. “I kind of love your dad. Just saying.”

“Yeah, well, try not to get caught in one of his lectures.”

~*~*~*~

The room you’d be sharing for the night was a nice, simple guest room with a full bed and mostly neutral decor. While you peered out the window to see the view Derek stared intently at the bed. 

“I’ll sleep on the floor.” He said, making you turn. 

“Derek, what are the chances that Cora barges in here tomorrow morning? Or your niece?” 

He winced. 

“Yeah. it would probably look pretty weird if you were sleeping on the floor. I’m a whole grown-up,” you said, “I can share a bed with a man. Unless you don’t want to.”

Derek shook his head but said nothing. 

You moved to look in the mirror hung on the wall and check your hair after the drive. You could see Derek watching you in the mirror. 

“Does anything ever bother you?” He asked, sitting on the bed. 

You furrowed your brow. “Lots of things bother me. Sharing a bed with you isn’t one of them.” You could just make out the pink tingeing his ears in the reflection. “And having to spend Thanksgiving with a family that seems pretty cool also doesn’t bother me.”

Derek watched you a moment longer. “Have I said thank you yet?” 

“You might have. But it’s not a big deal. I’m having fun.” You turned to lean against the vanity and watch him. “It’s not particularly difficult to pretend to be your girlfriend.” 

You expected him to blush at least a little, but he just watched you. You turned and gestured for him to follow you. “Come on. I still have to meet your mom.”

It was easy to chalk any nerves up to meeting Derek’s mom. Talia Hale was highly regarded and it wasn’t difficult to see why. As far as you knew she’d left a long career as a successful business attorney to pursue her original dream of working for the ACLU, hence the move to San Francisco. She remained a figure in a number of charities and organizations in Beacon Hills even from a distance and Derek always seemed in awe when he spoke of her. 

So, the idea of her was intimidating. 

Everyone wanted to be liked. Of course you wanted your fake boyfriend’s parents to like you. 

[onlyangelcas]

rosé flowing with your chosen family

my addition to @spnwomenweek ☼ day 2: family | read on ao3

“Claire,” Kaia says softly, placing her hand on Claire’s shoulder. “This is your family, what are you so worried about?”

Claire sighs, unsure of what exactly is so nerve wracking about walking into a house filled with her loved ones. Her back is resting against the side of her beat up station wagon, one sneaker kicking uselessly at the gravel under her feet and Kaia is looking at her with those concerned eyes that make her stomach knot up with guilt.

In front of her, past the somewhat wild front lawn, is Sam and Eileen’s new home, where their family is gathered for a last minute housewarming party. Sam and Eileen had put in an offer a few days after their wedding back in March, eager to get out of the dingy bunker and begin their life as a married couple. Claire was happy for them, Sam deserved a life of domesticity, just as Cas and Dean did.

It was weird, those first few weeks after the Winchsesters had defeated Chuck, God, whatever. Claire was devastated by the news of Cas being taken by the Empty, she hardly moved from her bed in the days following. Left confused, broken, and grieving an angel who was like her father in more ways than just his appearance. Kaia was supportive, of course, content to cuddle up next to her and run a soothing hand through her hair or convince her to eat a real meal at least once a day.

Before she even had the chance to fully process the loss of Cas, Jack and Dean had rescued him from the Empty. She remembered Jody’s voice calling out to her, she had slid from her bed and padded toward the front door. Claire was shocked to see Cas standing there, normal trench coat and suit traded in for a sweater and jeans, his hand tightly holding Dean’s. The two men had looked at her with concern, probably taking in her wrinkled pajamas, two-day-old bun, and the dark circles under her eyes. She had passed on asking the millions of questions that had flooded her mind in favor of wrapping herself tightly around Cas.

Claire had never been one to show her emotions so viscerally, but in that moment she couldn’t help the tears that quickly rolled down her cheeks. The joy of seeing Cas, when she thought he was gone for good, standing in her living room full of life and having apparently worked out whatever feelings he had for Dean, was overwhelming. Cas held her tightly while Dean ran a soothing hand across her back, and she wept openly for the first time since the Bad Place.

After that, things had returned to normal. Not normal for Claire, because all she had really known for the last few years was hunting, but the kind of normal where she didn’t have to kill monsters or worry that Sam and Dean were off getting themselves in trouble. There weren’t any monsters to hunt anymore, which left her feeling empty and useless for months. Kaia had pulled her out of that, like Kaia always did, and they decided to travel across the country and see the places they had never been able to enjoy before. It was freeing, to be on the open road, enjoying just being alive.

Claire and Kaia often passed through Kansas to visit Cas, Dean, and Jack at their house on the lake or to swing by the bunker to see Sam and Eileen. They never missed a birthday, wedding, or big event. Which is how they found themselves back in Kansas, Jody had called to let them know everyone was getting together for a housewarming party for Sam and Eileen. Her and Kaia had been in Memphis, enjoying barbecue and Blues, so the drive wasn’t too much of a hassle.

“Earth to blondie,” Kaia says, snapping Claire back to the present. “Are we going inside anytime soon? I’m starving, babe.”

Claire clears her throat, “Yeah, sorry. Lost in my head.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She looks into Kaia’s eyes, the usual soft brown painted with worry, and smiles in hopes it will ease her girlfriend’s concern, “No, I’m good, just overthinking. Let’s go eat.”

Kaia gives her a tentative smile, wrapping her hand around Claire’s and pulling her in for a chaste kiss.

They approach the front door, Claire raises her hand to knock but before her knuckles make contact the door swings open, revealing Sam with a grin spread across his face. He quickly wraps them both up in a hug and pulls them inside the loud and lively house. Claire and Kaia congratulate him on the house before breaking away to greet Jody, Donna, Alex, and Patience.

After hugs are exchanged and road trip updates are given, Claire slips away to the kitchen for a drink and Kaia heads toward Cas and Eileen who are clearly gossiping in ASL in the far corner of the living room.

Claire yanks open the fridge and helps herself to a beer, twisting off the cap and taking a long drink before propping herself against the counter.

“Hello Claire,” Jack says happily from where he’s sitting at the kitchen island, Claire hadn’t even noticed him when she first came in.

“Jack, jeeze, you scared me.”

“My apologies, I didn’t realize you hadn’t seen me.” Jack responds, his hands wrapped around a can of root beer.

“Yeah, I guess I was a little lost in thought.” She says, turning her head toward the door where the sound of Dean’s laughter is filtering through.

There’s a pause then, as Claire contemplates how she ended up here, with this ragtag group of former hunters, angels, and a witch that she calls family. It’s weird, she had always expected her dad to show back up one day and make their family whole again, back when she was young and naive. It’s even weirder, she thinks, that this band of misfits has become a better image of family than she could ever imagine to have with her mother and father. Claire had come to think of herself as a combination of Novak-Winchester-Mills-Hanscum for quite some time now, content to be part of this chosen family.

She still missed her mom and dad, from time to time, wondered what life would have been like if they had stayed with her. Claire never let herself spend too long on that path, knowing that if things had been different she would have never known Jody or Alex, she would never have known Cas, or Sam and Dean, she never would have fallen in love with Kaia. She has a family now; she found a mother in Jody and Donna, Castiel and Dean became her kind-of dads, Sam and Eileen the closest thing she has to an uncle and aunt, Alex and Patience are her sisters, Jack her brother. It’s weird and mismatched, but it’s hers and she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Claire,” Jack says, breaking her out of her thoughts. “You seem troubled.”

Claire flashes him a watery smile, suddenly overcome with affection for her perfectly messed up family, “Actually the opposite.”

Jack smiles back at her, a gap-toothed goofy grin, “Oh, I thought you were upset.”

She pushes herself away from the counter, abandoning her beer on the stone surface, and makes her way over to Jack. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course, Claire, anything.” Jack says, his head tilting up slightly to lock eyes with Claire, who is standing close enough that she’s marginally taller than Jack sitting down.

Claire pulls Jack into a hug, wrapping her arms so tightly around him that her ribs ache, “I love you.”

Jack slowly loops his arms around Claire, resting his cheek against her shoulder, “I love you, too.”

She lets out a wet laugh, giving Jack one final squeeze before pulling away.

“Well,” A gruff voice says from the doorway. “Isn’t that just a sight for sore eyes.”

Claire whips her head around to find Dean lounging against the doorframe, his face soft with a bit of fondness in his eyes.

“Hello Dean,” Jack says, his face still twisted up in a goofy grin.

Dean stalks forward into the kitchen, quickly wrapping the two up in a warm embrace and pressing a kiss to the top of their heads. He pulls away just as quickly as he pulled them in, locking eyes with Claire and giving her a look that conveys all the words he can’t say out loud.

“Jack helped me get a bunch of Sammy’s baby pictures scanned onto a CD and I’m gonna put ‘em up on the TV for everyone, you don't wanna miss it.” Dean says, giving her a gentle pat on the back.

She laughs, “Sounds mortifying, I can’t wait to see Sam’s face.”

“C’mon,” He says, jerking his head toward the living room before turning and heading out the door.

Claire watches him and Jack disappear into the other room, smiling to herself as she snatches up her beer and heads into the chaos. Cas, Kaia, and Eileen are still deep in conversation. Jody and Donna are whispering quietly to each other on the other side of the room. Rowena, Patience, and Alex are pressed together on the couch, a martini glass dangling from Rowena’s hand as she gestures wildly, obviously recounting an insane tale as the other women listen with rapt attention.

She slides in next to Sam, who is leaning against the stairway railing, eyeing Jack and Dean with suspicion as they fiddle with the disc player next to the TV.

“This is a great house, Sammy.”

Sam looks down at her, smiling slightly, “It’s not bad, but it’s the people who really make it home.”

Claire returns his smile, then turns back to the scene in front of her; all her favorite people, the people she loves most in the world, gathered in one room.

Dean always says, family don’t end with blood, something his own stand-in father, Bobby, used to tell him. Claire never met Bobby, but she thinks he might have been onto something.

[let-me-write-shit]

So, I had this idea for a harry imagine where they met during the 1D days and they took a trip for the summer alone and Harry wrote 'Summer love' for the reader. Then the reader got famous with a solo album and they never saw each other after that summer besides award shows and stuff. But then the reader puts out a song 'Summer by Kesha' which is a response to Summer love and Harry approaches the reader after the Brits (where she preformed) and wants to reconnect. You can end it yourself ❤️.

A/N: First Imagine after having covid. I’ve been trying to write this for weeks and my head was stuffy half the time, so I hope this turned out okay. Sorry it took so long. <3

Word Count: 4,378

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Summer Love

It was always there; that weird underlying tension that fizzled in the air after releasing a particularly personal song. It was easy to write about, and even to perform in front of thousands of strangers, but when it came to interviews it seemed more difficult. Doubts started to settle in and you’d start to kick yourself about releasing something so obvious.

Y/N should be used to the feeling by now. She’s been doing this, professionally, for nearly six years now, and although she quickly and easily built thick skin, always pulling herself out of potentially awkward questions without getting too in-depth about personal meanings of songs and whom they might be about, always handling it with the right amount of grit and edge, to be performing at an award show in front of hundreds of fellow musicians whom she’s looked up to for years was a terrifying prospect. Especially considering he would be watching from the audience as she performed a song written about him.

She didn’t intend for this to happen. She didn’t even want to perform that song. But when she tried to fight against it, they almost pulled her out of performing and it wasn’t worth being cut. It was her first year performing at the Brits and her third year attending. She was still fairly new on the scene despite the amount of time she had been recording, and this was her biggest year in her career so far since the release of her new single. It was mostly due to the rumors behind the song, though the rumors did hold some truth.

She wrote it in response to a song He released about her years ago, but she’d been thinking of the right words to say and the perfect song to write for so long that she was sure people had forgotten by now. Back then, Y/N was too afraid to sing in front of people. But her stage fright didn’t affect her ability to make new friends. She was a wild child at heart and could make friends anywhere she went. She just happened to meet all the right friends in all the right places and it worked out in her favor. It’s how she met him in the first place. Y/N was lucky, and she knew it.

It was about ten years ago, now, when One Direction was dominating the scene. They had just finished their first tour and were on a short break for the summer when some of the boys attended a little party of a mutual friend of Y/N’s. She remembered the first time she saw him. His curly hair unruly and his dimples dreamy. It was at that party that she and Harry exchanged numbers. That was the start of it all.

They had spent nearly every day that summer together. Their differences in behavior would have a huge impact on each other and would set a tone in their own personalities for years to come. Y/N’s wild spirit and carefree energy was something Harry tried to implement in his life as often as he could. It was because of Y/N that he took more risks and started living increasingly by his own rules where he could. And Harry showed her peace. His calm and acceptance taught her how to take a step back and relax. They were yin and yang.

That summer was one they’d never forget and would find themselves randomly thinking about for years after, Getting high, drunk, hanging with friends, kissing until their lips hurt, sex whenever they could get an ounce of privacy, laughing until they cried. Two stupid teenagers having the time of their lives.

The thing about spending so much intimate time with someone for nearly two months was that you’d start to actually fall for them. Harry was the first to say the words ‘I love you’. Their friends would joke and make fun of them for thinking it would be anything more than a summer fling. How could it? They were having too much fun together. All of Harry’s friends loved Y/N, and Harry was the first person outside of her immediate family to hear her sing and encourage her to pursue music. Neither of them wanted it to end. But as August turned to September they both knew. They were young and naive to think it could last.

Y/N remembered the last time they saw each other. She found herself often thinking about it when she was sad and alone. They were at a private beach and the water was too rough to swim in so they stayed on the sand and talked. Harry was about to leave for London the next day and Y/N would be starting back at school soon. They whined about how they didn’t want summer to end. Y/N started getting emotional and Harry began to cry, too. They kissed and cuddled, crying to each other. They told each other that they’d try to keep in touch, but they both knew this was goodbye.

Pictures of them together leaked of that day and rumors began to spread like wildfire. It got even crazier when their next album came out and they released a song called ‘Summer Love’. Fans immediately linked it to the leaked pictures of her and Harry at the beach and her social media blew up with people in her DMs asking for details and stories that she never entertained.

She got angry. How could he write a song about her but not keep in contact? She started pouring herself into her music. It was barely two years later that one of her friends introduced her to a producer and she began to make music. No one expected her career to gain momentum so quickly. Her, least of all. She had no clue what it took to be famous and the first year was the hardest. Especially the interviews.

It was difficult, at first, figuring out how to navigate her ‘girl next door’ image when she couldn’t seem to break free from the narrative of being one of Harry Styles's ex-girlfriends. It would be brought up in nearly every interview and it got tiring. That’s when Y/N made the decision to stop caring about her ‘image’ and to be true to herself. She started shutting down questions related to her personal relationships and showed more of her goofy and real side. Eventually, it became less about Harry and more about how people connected with her as a person. Y/N was refreshing to see amongst all the same talent that’s been on the scene for a while.

There were times where Y/N and Harry would attend the same events and cross paths. He definitely remembered her and they’d share a quick nod or wave in passing, but they’d always be whistles in different directions, unable to speak. Until one event, in particular, last year.

Nothing crazy happened. It was just a fundraiser dinner and a lot of celebrities were in attendance. There were theatrical performances and a few bands playing while they ate, along with intermittent speeches and auctions. Photographers and videographers circled the hundreds in attendance, getting some behind the scene shots, but for the most part, everyone just mingled.

Y/N brought her manager and boyfriend at the time, and she sat at a table with James Corden, his wife, and manager, as well as a few other lesser-known celebs that were more into the business aspect of things. Everyone was talking. She found out that James’s wife was a big fan of hers and they were all laughing at something Y/N said, making promises to be on his show again soon, when a figure loomed behind them, tapping James on the shoulder but getting everyone’s attention, turning to see Harry.

“Oh, Harry! Hello mate! How are you doing?” James asked, attempting to hug him from his seat.

“Alright, man, how are you?” Harry asked, grinning coyly and awkwardly, waving at the rest of the table, “Hello!” and then he looked at Y/N, eyes glistening and nodding, “Hi.”

“Hey,” she grinned back nicely, tight-lipped, as her boyfriend’s arms snaked around her waist, pulling her just a little closer to him.

Her boyfriend, well-known for having a famous dad, had no clue of the history between Y/N and Harry but was a fairly jealous guy. He didn’t trust anyone around Y/N and it was something she resented in their relationship.

Harry turned his attention back to James after eyeing the couple, “I was just checking to see if you’d be performing tonight, too?” Harry joked, “Maybe a little number from Into The Woods?” he smirked, earning a laugh from the table and roars from James.

“No, no. They can’t afford me,” James played along.

“It’s a charity, James,” Harry shot back, “Or maybe they were worried people would walk out.”

“Excuse you! That musical had eleven nominations and three awards, thank you very much!” James laughed, pointing out the empty seat across from him and Y/N, “Would you like to join us?”

Harry agreed, taking the seat, and he stayed there for the rest of the night. He talked with everyone at the table, watched the speeches, and listened to bands play. Eventually, he got enough courage to start conversing more with Y/N, shocked to find that, although she’s grown in the last several years and had a pretty shitty boyfriend, she was still relatively the same carefree, wild spirit he met at that party.

They talked about the release of his first solo album and his time on his first solo tour. They talked about how she was working on a new album herself and the recent interview she had with James that seemed to be a contender for most-viewed. Harry had seen it, as well. He was enjoying being in her company again but could do without her boyfriend that seemed to butt-in at every chance he could. And from the looks of it, Y/N was annoyed about it, as well.

By the end of the night, Harry was kicking himself for not getting her number. As he lay alone in bed, those memories of that summer began flooding back as it did every few months since, and speaking with her today struck him. He felt nostalgic, missing their sandy kisses and midnight strolls. How they used to stay up all night talking on the phone just to see each other again when the sun rose. He contemplated reaching out via Instagram or Twitter but ultimately decided that she had long since gotten over him and that there was no point considering she had a boyfriend.

Except that wasn’t true. The whole car journey back to her hotel, Y/N sat in silence recalling every moment of the night and longing for that old connection for Harry back. The second she and her boyfriend got back to her room, she grabbed her notebook, ignoring her boyfriend’s beckons to join him in bed, and went to work. It was the fastest song she had ever written, taking a total of two hours. And she broke things off with her boyfriend not two weeks later. The news broke in less than twenty-four hours and it was the top story for weeks.

She almost didn’t include the song in her album, but at the last minute, she decided to add it. She figured enough time had passed where people wouldn’t know who it was about. She was wrong. Big time.

Her impending performance at the Brits was all anyone could talk about, and now that the day was here, Y/N’s nerves were reeling. The thought of singing this song and knowing Harry was here watching was enough to make her want to throw up. Every time the camera panned to Harry during the awards with his face plastered on a large screen off to the side, Y/N was certain she’d pass out. Luckily they were on separate ends of the stage and she couldn’t really see him from where she sat, so she just avoided the screen. Her normal ‘don’t care’ attitude was gone.

Soon, she was taken backstage to get wired and ready for her performance. She bounced up and down in her heels trying to summon some energy and shake the nerves, messing with the dangling strands of hair that framed her face and wiping her sweaty palms on her sleek, satin red dress with one off-the-shoulder draping sleeve and a long side-slit.

She was led out to a pitch dark stage and was positioned in the center, hands gripping tightly on her mic as a presenter on another stage finished a short speech and introduced the next act. Y/N looked down at her feet, listening, waiting for her queue, afraid to look up amongst the crowd of very talented, very famous peers.

“The incredible Y/F/N Y/L/N, with her new single, SUMMER!”

The lights shone brightly on Y/N and she began to sing, followed by the sounds of piano.

“I haven’t seen you since the summer

But you feel just like I remember…..”

Her heart pounded as she walked towards the edge of the stage, finally getting the courage to look up and into their faces, everyone smiling, bobbing their heads, and most even singing along. She scanned the audience, her mind racing, terrified and shocked that she had even found the courage to go through with singing this song here. And then she saw him. He sat towards the left of the stage at a circular table, close to the front, looking up at her, listening intently, with a lopsided smile, and their eyes locked.

That’s when something weird happened. The anxiety she felt just seconds before had washed away. For weeks, this had been her worst nightmare; having to sing this song to his face. She had given herself countless pep talks and dozens of plans to avoid eye contact with anyone in the audience while she sang just in case she ended up looking at Harry. But now that it’s happened, a sense of relief has washed over her. There were so many things she wanted to say to him over the past few years, but for some reason, singing this song at him seemed like enough for the time being. It summed it all up.

He could feel eyes on him, not just from Y/N, but from his table and those around him, as well. Everyone knew of the rumors about this song. Everyone assumed it was about him. Honestly, he figured it was about him, too. Some of the lyrics seemed to point to that summer. But assuming he meant enough to her, especially enough to write a song after all this time, seemed extremely arrogant of him, so he avoided vocalizing his thoughts on the topic and always pushed it aside when it was brought to his attention.

When he heard that she would be performing the song at the Brits, a part of him was scared. He didn’t know how he should react. Should he play it cool? Should he sing along? Should he ignore her performance? But when he saw her on the stage in front of him, he couldn’t take his eyes away. A smile formed on his face and all he could feel was pride. He was proud that he got to know her before all of the fame and got to see the talent before she blew up. He was proud that she worked so hard to get to where she was.

And then they locked eyes.

He was speechless. It wasn’t a particularly heart-wrenching song in its own right, but he could feel the meaning behind the lyrics deep in his chest. Harry could see the tension fading from Y/N’s eyes, something that would barely be noticed unless you were looking for it. And he laughed as she bounced and skipped around the stage. She kicked her heels off which earned an outrageous amount of screams and claps and he laughed as she spun around the stage, barefoot. There she was; that beautiful, carefree girl he’d known when they were just teenagers. And as the song ended and she began to slow down, they caught eyes once more and they smiled before the lights began to dim and everyone in the audience stood, clapping. Harry among them.

“Wow. That was incredible,” his sister, Gemma, awed beside him.

They shared a look; one of both knowing and apprehension. He never told Gemma about Y/N. Sure, she knew of the rumors and saw the pictures, but they never went into detail about their love lives with each other. She didn’t want to push anything out of her brother, but she was a fan of Y/N’s and didn’t want to make her brother feel uncomfortable if she was supporting an artist whom he had any sort of resentment about. But by the look of his smile and nod of agreeance, she knew that it was no trouble.

He found himself often peaking over the heads of the crowd in an attempt to steal a glance at her. And whenever he stood to clap, or collect an award, no matter how hard he tried to conceal his curiosity, he would always end up locking eyes. When she won the first award of her career, he clapped louder and longer than anyone else, and he knew that he was giving himself away. Everyone who had come with him had realized that he was increasingly becoming more interested in her as the night progressed.

When the award show was finally over, he attempted to shuffle amongst the crowd, hoping to catch her before she left, but that proved difficult as he kept getting stopped by other friends and celebrities wanting to congratulate him on his winnings and aiming to have a conversation with him. By the time he had reached her table, she had already gone.

The afterparty was brimming with people, with both celebrities who had gone to the awards, and some who hadn’t. The music was so loud in areas that you could hardly hear others speak. Servers were weaving in and out of people with trays of food and drinks while people talked, danced, and consorted. He was always surprised by the mix of people he saw at afterparties and the friendships he had never expected.

He was in the middle of a conversation with his sister, Alexa Chung, and a few others, when a reflection of glistening light just beyond their group caught his eye, and he looked past his friends to see Y/N standing towards the other end of the room laughing with James Corden, just like she had been the last time he saw her. He had made up his mind in an instant and politely excused himself, making his way over.

“Hello,” he dragged, cautiously edging up towards the two.

They both looked up and he noticed the surprise in Y/N’s eyes before James exclaimed, “Harry! How’s it going, mate?”

“I’m alright, James. And you?” He asked, and before James could respond he turned towards Y/N and muttered, “Hey.”

“Jesus Christ, Harold, you’re not very subtle, are you?” he joked.

It was only a joke, but both Y/N and Harry began to blush. James, too, knew of the rumors and even pressed his friend, off the record, about his brief encounter with Y/N. He knew that there were some reserved emotions between the two old lovers, but by the look of their reaction, it seemed to be a bit greater than he had anticipated and he knew he might have just inadvertently created a bit of tension between the two.

“Well, it was nice to see you both, but I’ve got to go look for my wife before she leaves me for Shawn Mendes,” James lied, giving both of them a friendly hug and kiss on the cheek, “Have a good night.”

They watched as James snuck off and stood there in a moment of silence as the room around them only got louder. Y/N smirked, waiting for Harry to say something. Years, she had pictured this moment. Years she had imagined having a conversation as more than just a passing node or group discussion. Still, if he didn’t get a move on, someone could interrupt them and it’d be just another fleeting moment in their years worth of run-ins.

“You look lovely,” he finally noted, motioning towards her dress.

Y/N snorted, raising an eyebrow, “Come on, Harry, what’d you really want to say?”

Harry grinned nervously, shaking his head, she could see right through him, “Could never get anything past you, could I?”

“Never,” she smiled, crossing her arms.

He looked at her a moment, scanning her eyes before his face turned more serious, “...I missed you.”

“Oh? Did you?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, teasingly jutting his head forward matter-of-factly, “I did.”

“I guess I missed you, too. If you couldn’t tell by the song,” she added, giggling.

“Oh, was that about me?” he asked sarcastically.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Nah, couldn’t be. Some other bloke, some other summer.”

Harry laughed, astounded. So much time had passed and Y/N was seldom not on his mind. Sure, he had seen her in passing at the many award shows and alongside him on the internet, but he always wondered what time had done to her. He, himself, had learned and evolved with time and with knowledge. He hadn’t considered himself a ‘changed’ man, like so many that had gained money and an ounce of power, but rather he considered himself just grown. He wondered if she would be the same and often worried that the lifestyle would have sucked her dry. He sees it time and time again, lively people turning into shells of their past while trying to keep up with the scene.

But seeing her here, now, he knew that not to be true. She seemed every bit herself, just….grown. More confident, smarter, but just as playful and beautiful as ever. The nerves he was feeling before had gone, replaced with the silliness that he remembered always feeling when he was around her.

“So, we’ve established that I missed you and you missed me. What should we do about that?” he asked, rather flirtatiously.

She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side and as if it was the simplest answer said, “Well, I suppose that means you should ask me out to dinner.”

Harry smiled wider, “So no boyfriend, then?”

She shook her head, a playful smirk forming on her face, “Not unless you’re asking.”

His mouth fell open slightly. Her forwardness was always something he fawned over, and before he could speak, a dark-haired girl slunk up to the two of them and they turned to see Gemma. Y/N had never met Gemma before and only knew of her from the stories Harry told her when they were younger. Of course, she’s seen pictures of his older sister, but seeing them side-by-side she could see the similarities between the two siblings.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt…” Gemma started.

Y/N shook her head, “No, you’re not. It’s Gemma, right? I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

Harry watched as his sister attempted to stop ogling and accepted Y/N’s offer for a hug and polite kiss on either cheek. He knew Gemma must be internally freaking out as she admitted, “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m a big fan.”

“Thank you. You look gorgeous, by the way. I can tell who got the good genes,” Y/N smiled, poking fun at Harry.

He feigned hurt and elongated, “Heeeeyyyyy.”

“Hush, now. The girls are talking,” Y/N winked.

The three spent most of the night together, conversing with dozens of other celebrities who approached them, but they hadn’t strayed from each other all night. Their conversation seemed endless and never ran out of things to say. They even started getting a little childish and would sneak off and explore the hotel in which the party was held. Harry was happy to see that his sister and Y/N had quickly become friends, even if it was at the expense of his ego. But as the night continued and the three fought to hide their exhaustion, it had gotten too late and Y/N’s manager had finally found them.

“Come on, Y/N, we should get going,” the blonde tugged at Y/N’s arm.

Y/N nodded, “Yeah, alright.”

They all stood up and gave each other hugs goodbye, “It was nice to see you again,” Y/N whispered into Harry’s ear, lingering in his embrace just a second longer before pulling away, smiling, and following her manager towards the exit.

Harry watched after her, sad to see her walking away again. Why was sleep even a thing? He could spend hours more talking to her about utter nonsense, filling in the gaps of all of their missed time together. He felt a nudge to the left of him from Gemma and he turned to see her urging eyes. He knew what she meant. And he didn’t need another nudge. In seconds, he bolted up and jogged ahead, catching up with them. Y/N must have heard his footsteps, because she turned, amused to see Harry yielding, out of breath.

“Forget something?” she joked, crossing her arms with a smile.

He grinned, nodding, “Your number.”

She smiled wider, holding her hand out for his phone and when he passed it to her, she quickly inputted her number and saved it, handing it back. “Please pass my number along to your sister, too.”

“Are you just using me to get to Gemma?” Harry joked.

“Of course I am,” Y/N laughed. There was a moment of silence before Y/N leaned in, kissing him softly on the cheek before stepping back towards her manager, “Don’t lose my number this time, yeah?”

Harry shook his head, lips twitching, “Never. I won’t make that mistake again.”

------------------------------------

Taglist:

@odetostep @mylittleangel9403 @thurhomish @fallingfordolans

[staarshines]

It’s Not All Roses Chapter 1: astra (HighSchool!AU) || P.D.

| It’s Not All Roses Masterlist |

Warnings: cursing

Word Count: 3.1k

Excerpt: “Meet Rey! She’s in our english class, remember?” You can’t believe it for a minute—Wait, was this Poe’s doing? No, he was walking up the stairs with you… You look around, seeing him walk into the row from the other side. What the hell were the odds?

[A/N]: i haven’t been on here for months but we don’t talk about that❤️ also, the pandemic doesn’t exist here. bonne lecture.

Your Sour Patch Kids and Sprite, Finn’s Milky Way and Gatorade… You look over the items in your hands once more, hurrying through the crowds of kids masked in orange and white, proudly showing off Amidala-Skywalker High School’s colors; a stark contrast to the crowd bathed in red and black on the other side of the podium.

You mentally curse yourself for even wanting to come to the Homecoming game between Amidala-Skywalker and Geonosis High—dragging Finn along with you on top of that.

If Homecoming was this overhyped, you were going to be pissed.

Lost in thought, you unavoidably manage to run into someone, wincing when you hear the crack of your Sprite can hit the ground and open.

“My bad.”

You look back up to see a cute guy looking back at you with apologetic eyes, grinning, while his wild chocolate-colored curls frame his face.

“No, you’re good. It was my fault for running into you.”

“Nah, that was me. Got a little too focused on the game.” Both of you erupt into awkward laughter, bending down to pick up the snacks now lying on the ground. “I’m Poe, by the way.”

You look up once more, breath hitching in your throat because of how close you are to him—had you moved five inches closer, your lips would be pressed flush up against his. Your cheeks heat up at the thought and you forget how to speak for a few moments, watching him hold back a smirk.

This fucker knew exactly—

“I’m Y/N,” you quickly blurt out, flashing him a quick smile and grabbing the candy and sports drink, noticing another Sprite can that Poe hadn’t picked up. “I think that’s yours.”

“No, that one’s yours.”

“Even if it is mine, I ran into you, so you should have it.”

“Honestly? I was hoping you’d say that. Rey would kill me if I didn’t come back with her Sprite.” You chuckle and nod, standing up and smiling when he motions for you to go up the steps first.

You’re thinking about where you’ve seen him on the way up to your row, realizing that he was the one who pranked a girl—you’re guessing Rey?—in your english class by removing her headphones from her laptop’s jack while she was in the bathroom. Mr. Kenobi nearly fell out of his seat when he heard “WAP” blaring at full volume.

Needless to say, she was not happy.

You slide into the row Finn is sitting in, throwing him his candy and the Gatorade bottle—the latter of which he nearly doesn’t catch, which would’ve resulted in it hitting the brunette next to him.

“Y/N! Meet Rey! She’s in our english class, remember?” You can’t believe it for a minute—Wait, was this Poe’s doing? No, he was walking up the stairs with you… You look around, seeing him walk into the row from the other side.

What the hell were the odds?

You then remember that Finn and Rey are watching you look around like a madman, snapping you back to the situation of introductions and small-talk at hand.

“Right! The girl who—”

“Whose music blared in a dead-silent classroom in the middle of our english class? Yeah, that’s me.” You chuckle slightly, nodding to her and sitting down. Poe’s gaze catches your eye and he quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head.

What are you doing here?

A quick tilt of your head in Finn’s direction, then the game’s direction. Watching the game, apparently.

Raised eyebrows and the hint of a smirk. You following me?

An eyeroll and a bit-back smile. Oh yeah, definitely.

He shrugs with a smile on his face and sits down next to Rey, and you stifle a chuckle when you see her snatch the Sprite and Airheads from him, cracking the can open.

“What, do you two know each other?” It takes you a second to realize Finn’s question is directed at you and Poe.

“I mean kinda, we just ran into each other a while ago. Oh, that’s Poe. Poe, Finn, Finn, Poe.” They exchange warm smiles but nothing more.

“Well, I promise I’m not aiding him in anything,” Rey reads your mind, winking and eliciting a giggle from you. You look over to find him scrolling through his phone, earning a slight frown from you as you resume your normal position and pop a Sour Patch Kid into your mouth, mindlessly watching the game go on. Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you lazily pull it out, checking the notification.

      Instagram Poe Dam(n)eron (@damndameron) has requested to follow you.

        You look over at him once again, finding him now watching the game. Hm, so we’re playing this game? All right. Opening the app, you accept his request and click on his profile, a bit surprised when you see that he’s private—he pegged you as the type of guy to have a public account. Nevertheless, you hit “Follow”, waiting a few moments before refreshing and seeing that he’s accepted, giving you full access to his profile.

You see about four posts and a few story highlights, but nothing out of the ordinary. You click on his most recent post, scrolling past the beach, a hot tub at a cabin, a picture of him and Rey at Pike’s Peak—was she his girlfriend?—and lastly, a picture of someone who you guessed was his mother and him as a baby. He’s standing on her feet in what looks like their living room and you can tell that they’re dancing, a grin frozen on his mom’s face while Poe flashes a toothy smile—his dad must’ve taken the picture. It was dated November 21, posted almost one year ago. Curious, you click on the comments and start reading through them.

kare_kun_ Thinking about all of you.

r.skywalker you'll always be her flyboy, poe.

snapwexley01 she’d be so proud of you, man.

j_pava  Wish she was still here with us. Stay strong, Poe.

The last comment makes it all click into place, and you feel a pang in your heart. He’d lost his mom. How long ago? He was maybe four years old in that picture. You suddenly feel so empathetic that all you want to do is give him a hug—he was a momma’s boy; you could read it right off his face. You keep the date in mind: November 21st.

“Well, we won.” You look up in a daze to see that the clock was 6 seconds away from halftime, the score being 31-9 in Amidala-Skywalker’s favor.

“How do you kick someone’s ass that badly?” you ask with a sort of wince even though you were on the triumphant side, clicking your phone shut.

“Like that, apparently,” Poe remarks, just before the halftime buzzer rings. “You guys wanna get out of here and go to the baseball fields or something? It’s a lot less noisy but you can still hear the game’s commentary.” You’re a bit surprised at his proposal, seeing as you four just met, but you’re definitely not opposed.

“Why not?” Finn responds, shrugging his shoulders. You four get up and leave the row, nearly getting trampled in the number of kids leaving their seats to either go get food or leave the game entirely.

“C’mon, flyboy, you’re gonna get lost!” Rey yells from behind you. Flyboy. Wonder where he got that nickname.

“Oh my God, please— He did not!” you laugh, clapping a hand over your mouth while giving Poe a disbelieving look.

It’s pitch black outside now and you four are bathed in the floodlights of the baseball stadium, sitting on the grass just by home base.

“There’s fight, there’s flight, then there’s complete idiocy. Guess which one Poe has programmed into his DNA.” Poe narrows his eyes at Rey, throwing Finn’s empty Gatorade bottle at her which she catches with ease.

“It’s not my fault I wasn’t thinking—”

“Thank you for admitting that.”

“—I was panicked! There was a s’more in my hand and I just threw it in the other direction!”

“While not thinking that the bear would come after you for more,” you add, watching him huff, seeing a hint of a pout on his face. “Remind me never to go anywhere near the woods with you.”

“I like her already,” Rey remarks, to which you crack a smile.

��How long have you two been dating?” you try to crack the question as casually as possible, but let’s face it: the anticipation is eating away at you. To your surprise, they both burst out in laughter—so they’re not together?

“Oh my God, I wouldn’t date Poe in a million years. I couldn’t handle being that much impulse control for him—He’s already a liability as my best friend,” Rey laughs, shaking her head.

“I— Rude. But honestly, I wouldn’t date you either. You don’t know how to have fun,” he exaggerates the statement with his hands. You smile at their banter, a bit surprised at their relationship’s similarity to yours and Finn’s. “How long have you two been dating?”

“We’re most definitely not dating,” Finn chuckles, earning a slap to the shoulder from you.

“No need to act like you’d never date me! Remember the kiss on the playground in third grade?” you ask sarcastically, the memory bringing back a bout of nostalgia.

“That was third grade! And I was dared to do it!” You laugh, throwing an arm around him.

“I mean Finn, you seem pretty passionate about making sure she knows you don’t like her,” Poe winks, earning a fake gag from Finn.

“Oh, please. She’s like my sister.”

“Literally,” you add. “I’m pretty sure I saw you more than I saw my own parents during my childhood.”

“You, Ben, Han, and Leia, yeah,” he nods.

“Ben, Han, and Leia..?”

“Ben’s our best friend. The three of us practically grew up together with Han and Leia—his parents.”

“Han and Leia like—Dr. Solo and Dr. Organa? The ones who teach at the school?” You nod, answering Poe’s question. “I don’t think they’re married—are they divorced?”

“Never got married,” Finn explains. “Just two best friends who had a one-night stand and actually stayed civil with each other after learning about the pregnancy. They raised Ben together—and us, too, basically.”

“I miss him,” you murmur. “Why’d his stupid ass have to want to go to that college prep school way over in New York, anyway?”

“Probably just to make Han and Leia proud after all they’ve done. Mark my words, he’ll be back here in a year or two. You don’t get the high school experience at a prep school.”

“Are you talking about First Order Preparatory, the big one in New York?” Rey interjects. “That’s not a boarding school last I checked.”

“Nah, he’s living over there with his Uncle Luke. I mean, we FaceTime and all, but it’s just not the sa—”

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Poe, she’s coming over here.” Both Poe and Rey scramble to get up, leaving you and Finn to do the same while you steal a glance behind yourself, trying to see who Rey is talking about.

“Run,” Poe whispers in a panicked tone; Rey grabs his arm before he can take off.

“We’re not running, genius!” she hisses, looking behind you once more. You turn around, finally spotting a blonde wearing an orange shirt and white shorts, stripes of white paint just under her eyes. “We’re walking away. Quickly. Very quickly.” You turn around, finding them nodding to you and Finn; the four of you begin in the opposite direction from whoever the blondie was.

“Who are we r—walking very quickly away from?” you ask, keeping up at a brisk pace.

“Zorii Bliss. She’s been after Poe ever since fifth grade,” Rey explains, picking up her pace.

“Just tell her you’re not interested. Simple,” you mutter, arching an eyebrow.

“You think I haven’t tried? What was this summer, the seventh time I’ve turned her down?” Poe groans, and you suddenly feel terrible. They were actually running from this girl who’d been after them for five years. Couldn’t you get a restraining order or something? “She’s been with five guys—”

“Six,” Rey corrects.

“—six guys in the past four months. All she does is play them then blame them, all while still somehow looking like the victim. The Smoky Mountains trip we were just talking about—the bear and the s’mores? You don’t know how hard she tried to get in on that trip.”

“Sheesh,” Finn starts, “someone needs to—”

“Poe!” you hear someone, presumably Zorii, call out from behind you four.

“—get the hint,” Finn mutters, and the four of you turn around to find her just maybe fifty feet away. What the fuck, did she run to catch up or something?

“Hide me,” you hear Poe whisper, and before you can ask how, he’s already crouched behind you, arms around your waist.

“Long time no see,” she calls out, sauntering now. Aw c’mon, how about you run like you were doing before? Look all desperate for the cameras?

“What—She knows you’re here!”

“But I’m not.”

“Yes you are!”

“Nope.” You start to argue with him but then stop, realizing he really didn’t want to see her.

“Aw, that’s cute.” Christ, even her voice was insufferable. She looked like a bitch, too.

You really just wanted to punch her in the face.

“What do you want, exactly?”

“Who are you, his girlfriend? Funny, Poe hasn’t really ever dated anyone.” She shuffles a bit to the side and you copy her footwork to guard Poe, watching her raise her eyebrows and laugh in disbelief. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“And you didn’t answer mine,” you quip smoothly, hearing Finn quickly stifle a laugh from beside you. She gives Finn a dirty look, and you swear you’re about to drag her from her hair right now. “What do you want?”

“I just came over to say hi to Poe since we didn’t get to meet too much over the summer,” she shrugs. “Zorii Bliss.” You don’t respond, waiting for her to make her exit. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?”

“Couldn’t be more bothered to.” Rey sucks in a sharp breath and you’re worried that you’ve crossed some sort of line, but your stance doesn’t waver. She rolls her eyes and blows a kiss to Poe before turning on her heel and walking away—you’re sure she’s swaying her hips on purpose.

“Damn,” Poe murmurs, getting up from behind you. “You really said ‘no, bitch’ to her.” You laugh a little bit at his statement, shaking your head.

“She just really pissed me off. Hopefully that taught her a lesson and she’ll leave you alone now.”

“We can hope. I nearly fought her in the middle school parking lot once.” Finn raises his eyebrows at Rey but you just nod impressedly.

“Y’know, we should take a picture so we have something to post on Instagram,” Poe suggests. “I haven’t posted for a while.” He’s actually one of the boys who cares about his Instagram? Respect.

“Yeah, neither have I.” You shush Finn before he can start to whine about taking pictures, but Rey seems to have the same reaction as him. “Aw, c’mon you guys, it’s just one picture.”

“Fine,” Finn drawls. “Just one.”

“Maybe two,” you add with a giggle, watching him shake his head as you pull out your phone, opening the camera. “Okay, any ideas on where we should set it? Because the four of us sure as hell aren’t fitting in a square if I take a selfie.”

“If you have a popsocket, you can try to hook it inside the diamonds of the fence.”

“Good idea, flyboy,” you test the nickname out, watching his reaction closely to determine whether you’re crossing a line. He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling up, so you breathe a sigh of relief.

After having set your phone up on the fence—“You’re taking too long. Let me do it.” “Finn, you’re not going to have any more luck than I am.” (He, in fact, didn’t)—you press the shutter button and quickly run back to the four, throwing an arm around Finn and watching Rey neck Poe, earning a laugh from you. It’s a bit too late when you realize the picture’s already been taken, and it takes about three minutes for you both to coax Finn and Rey into taking another one. The second one turns out almost perfect, though, seeming like one of those cliché VSCO pictures that everyone posts around this time.

“Numbers,” you state simply, handing your phone to Rey. She starts adding her contact information, taking a quick selfie for her contact picture and then handing the phone off to Poe. “And give me your Instagram handles, too. I’ll tag you guys when I post.”

“You already have mine,” Poe remarks while not looking up from the phone, and you’re sure that you’re the only one who can hear the slight smugness in his voice. He hands your phone back to you and you see that he’s set the picture of his annoyed face after Rey necking him as his contact photo, which makes you giggle a bit.

After you’d sent them the pictures—Poe had named the groupchat “the avengers”, which sparked a conversation about Marvel (Finn and Poe were arguing over the best Avenger right now)—you edited the pictures slightly to make them better, uploading them to Instagram with the caption, “no friendship is an accident.”.

You four were now walking out of school boundaries towards your neighborhood—yet another thing you four discovered you had in common—but you were lost in the stars, hearing traces of the current conversation on hand (something about Asgard and the Tesseract).

“Hey. Snap out of it.” Poe snaps his fingers in front of your face and you blink, shaking your head and looking back at him.

“Huh? Sorry.”

“Staring at the stars?” he asks, looking up at the sky himself.

“Yeah. Found Ursa Major and Cassiopeia,” you point out, watching him genuinely look for the constellations, humming when he sees them too. “You like stargazing?”

“I do, actually. Have a telescope in my room and everything.”

“Oh?” You’re stepping in stride with him, completely forgetting about the other two who are also with you.

“Yeah. Y’know… you need a nickname.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“I dunno, I just think…” he looks up at the sky then back at you, grinning as if he’s figured something out. “Astra.”

“Astra?” you ask, recognizing the word to be Greek for “star”.

“Astra,” he confirms, nodding. You raise an eyebrow, but you can’t deny that you like it.

“Well, it’s not terrible.” You were understating. You kind of loved it.

“I’ll take that as a win.”

Masterlist

All taglists are open! Send me an ask or a message :)

Permanent: @becausewhyknotme, @criminal-cookies, @theladyoffangorn, @officialtonystarkprotectionsquad, @justmebeingtheweirdmeiam, @fantasticcopeaglepasta, @talk-geek-to-me, @letsmellowjello, @thescarletknight2014, @bbluespiritzuko, @brooklynsmorales, @marvel-dameron, @marvelinsanity​, @softly-sad, @yourbucky084, @mcolbz14

Star Wars: @kittyofalltrades​, @arkofblake​, @m1rkw00dpr1ncess​, @propertyofdindjarin​, @coldbreadbouquetworld​, @melvls​, @waatermelon-sugaar​, @thedevilwearsbeskar​

Poe Dameron: @yougottakeeponkeepinon​, @poe-damnnn-eron​, @lapilark​, @peterhollandkait​, @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol​, @twomoonstwosuns​, @writefightandflightclub​, @lady-sloan, @poes-stardust​, @legamelo​, @xremember-me-notx​, @imtheoutgoingsidekick-baby​, @yourbucky084​, @agents-assemble​, @asianravenpuff​, @daydreamerinadazedworld​

“It’s Not All Roses” Taglist: @marvelous-capsicle​, @fishswimbetterunderwater​, @r2fucku, @missmadwoman​

[prurientpuddlejumper]

You’re a Mean One, Mr. Kneef (Part 1)

Part 2 ->

For @thatesqcrush​​​’s Holiday Bingo! Filling the Grinch/Scrooge square

Bryan Kneef x Female Reader

Warnings: NSFW. No smut, just a... situation in which Bryan has zero sense of shame. Honestly it’s straight-up workplace sexual harassment. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

1,576 words

Festive lights were strung around the offices of STR Laurie, but their merry glow added no holiday cheer to the hearts of all of those forced to come into work on Christmas Eve. Everyone was supposed to have the day off, or at least get a half-day. However, the sun was setting over the Chicago skyline, and at least a dozen paralegals were still frantically toiling over the enormous workload dumped on them last minute by one Bryan Kneef.

It didn’t seem like a particularly important case or a particularly critical motion, but according to Mr. Kneef, it was worthy of an all-hands-on-deck situation that would make as many employees as possible miss dinner with their families.

In fact, as you glared over the top of your monitor at his office—the curtains drawn and the lights dimmed within—you were pretty sure he wasn’t even working on this ��important” case. He was probably fucking napping. This was all some sadistic Scrooge-like tactic to make everyone miserable just because he didn’t have anywhere to be tonight.

As the angled light streaming in through the window turned dusky orange with no end to the work in sight, you’d had enough. You stood up, marched across the office, and barged through Mr. Kneef’s door without knocking, certain you were going to catch him with his eyes closed on the couch.

Instead, you caught him behind his desk, furiously masturbating to porn.

He stopped, but unlike a decent human being who would yelp in surprise and frantically sputter apologies for being caught dick-in-hand, he wasn’t startled by your entrance and made no particular hurry to cover himself. He clicked a button on the keyboard, and the rhythmic sounds of moaning stopped.

His eyebrows raised at you impatiently as if you’d interrupted him on a phone call.

You slammed the door behind you—the rest of the office didn’t need to hear this.

“What the fuck, Mr. Kneef? This case is so important we have to work through fucking Christmas, and you’re in here jerking off?”

“Your point?”

“Fuck you!”

His lips pushed up into an excessive frown that made his beard bristle, and he raised his brows, not disagreeing and seemingly impressed with your audacity.

“Fine. Come here.” He patted his lap, smirking, legs spread wide in his leather chair. His semi-hard cock was still sitting naked and pink outside his deep navy dress pants.

Now he’d crossed the line into making your skin crawl.

“OK, I’m calling HR.”

He scoffed and tucked himself back into his pants. “You said fuck me.”

He wasn’t swayed by your threat to report him—what was important was that you had been the first to blink. You didn’t really look offended, anyway. If you had blushed like a nun and hidden your eyes when you walked in on him, he wouldn’t have been so provocative (he wasn’t a complete monster). If you had fucking knocked, you wouldn’t have walked in on anything. But you had the balls to barge in and dress down your superior. The number-one asshole of the firm was not about to let you challenge him and win.

You closed your eyes and tried to compose yourself, ignoring the flush of heat surging behind your ribs and pooling between your legs from his sleazy request. Ew—body, what? Don’t be gross.

“So. You have a problem with the work I’ve assigned you?” He set his elbow on the table and rested his beard in his hand. His voice was as casually mocking as ever, as if this whole situation was perfectly normal.

“Yeah. It’s bullshit. We’d all like to go home if this motion isn’t so vitally pressing it can’t wait until Monday.”

“I see.”

“Don’t you have anywhere to be?”

There was a twitch in his face at that. He tried to remain as callous and inscrutable as ever, but the question revealed a tension that wasn’t obvious before. Beside his computer was a bottle of Scotch and an almost-empty glass. Next to that was a small rectangular box, neatly wrapped with shiny silver paper and a gold bow. He glanced down at it, and he looked, for a brief instant, sad.

He wasn’t so intimidating when his cold eyes turned pitiful like that. Almost like he was human.

In contrast to his distasteful personality, his eyes were a beautiful, delicate green even in the dim light. It was enough to make you admit how handsome the lawyer was—the dark beard, the flecks of silver streaking through his flawlessly-styled hair. If he turned out to have actual human feelings beneath the swagger, you might even like him.

You sat down in the small chair opposite him at his desk. His eyes had already retaken their cold, mocking air, but you tried appealing to the hypothetical inner-human in him anyway. “Do you have any Christmas traditions? A family you want to see? You must at least remember being a kid—how special the holidays are at that age. Dana has two kids waiting at home, and this is the only time of year Paul gets to see his nephews.”

“You think I give a shit about sob stories? They have a job to do. If they don’t like it, they can quit.”

“Fine”—Screw playing nice—“How about this: I can call HR about the porn on your work computer.”

He glowered back at you, appraising the sincerity of your threat. “The whole HR department is eating turkey right now. So, you can file a complaint on Monday. Maybe I get a warning? Won’t help you tonight. Sorry, sweetheart. Finish the motion, you can go home.” His piercing eyes stared at you, waiting. “Will that be all?”

Instead of retreating in an indignant huff as he full-well expected you to do, you shoved aside a handful of papers and the Scotch bottle to clear a spot on his desk, and sat on it so you were looking down on him, thoroughly invading his personal space. “What do you want? Why are you doing this? Don’t pretend it isn’t out of spite. Let me guess… you didn’t want to spend another Christmas alone getting sad-drunk on expensive whisky, so you decided to do this instead of pick up a hooker?”

He glared harshly but otherwise didn’t react.

“How about this? I’ll take one for the team and go drinking with you—just tell everyone else they can go home, Ebenezer.”

He rolled his eyes contemptuously and explained in no uncertain terms that that was not going to happen. But maybe it was your flirtatious body language, or the stubborn way you refused to back down, or that you weren’t intimidated by him like every other subordinate around here. Maybe he was just lonely. But you were irritating in a way he liked. And just desperate enough to do him a favor.

“If we left together, we would not be going out drinking,” he growled.

You rightly mistook it for an invitation to bed—because he deliberately intoned it as such to rile you up, so when you spat, “Fuck you!” he could feign innocent victimhood.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said. “I do have somewhere to be tonight—a family dinner. If you are serious about wanting to get me out of here, that’s where we’d go.” Of course, if you’d jumped at the offer to fuck him, he would have accepted that, too.

Now you were just confused. “You want… to take me to meet your parents? Why…?”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, already kicking himself for what he was about to tell you. But fuck it. You would have to find out if you were going to help, and he could use you and your massive balls to solve his little dilemma. Ovaries? Yeah. Your big brass ovaries.

“My parents are expecting me to show up with my long-term girlfriend. They have been... annoyingly eager to meet her tonight, and she just fucking dumped me.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Being dumped sucked. Not that you’d ever take it out on a dozen coworkers, but assholes grieve differently. “How long were you together?”

“Three months.”

You blinked. “Oh my god, that is not a long-term relationship. Jesus, what standard are you going by? One-night stands?”

He bristled at the question, and you had a distinct impression that—yeah—the comparison was one-night stands.

“Irrelevant. I don’t want to spend the entire night fielding questions about what happened, sitting through my dad’s relationship advice, and dodging pitying glances.”

“So you invented a work emergency. Classy. Never thought I’d see the great Bryan Kneef, lady killer, on his knees over someone he dated for three months.

“I am not broken up about it,” he snapped. “I just don’t want to deal with the bullshit from my family. So, you want to get out of here? Pretend to be my date for a few hours. You don’t have a problem lying, do you? We can break up after New Year’s. Deal?”

“You’ll let everyone else go home?”

He protested and made a counter-offer, but after much bargaining and negotiation, he finally gave in and agreed to your terms.

And that was how you saved Christmas and became the unsung hero of the entire office. None of your coworkers would know the sacrifice you made for them, the awkward dinner you had to endure, or all of the illuminating secrets you would learn that night about the biggest asshole at the firm.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags: 

@beccabarba​ / @caked-crusader​ / @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ / @thatesqcrush​ / @dianilaws​ / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @madamsnape921​ / @astrangegirlsmind​

[lex-feldz]

Can you do #6 (Why are you naked in my bed) pot favor?

Your wish is my command 😌😌

Percy knew surprising Annabeth at her Dad’s place would cheer her up, besides he really missed her. You can only play candy lane with your parents and a crying baby so many times before you go crazy and or miss your girlfriend.

Okay so he may or may not have paid attention the last time he had been in her house— bedroom actually. It had been dark and she had him sneak in by climbing the arbor that led to her window. This particular arbor happened to fit along the wide side of the house and led to one window.

When he got into the open window, it was like she left it for him. If he was being honest he didn’t expect her to have a family portrait in her room over her bed but he figured that since she doesn’t come around much they just put it in there.

He was gonna get the good stuff tonight. He set up rose petals, and put in a cd that was next to her old CD player. It was already set to a nice sensual song but he chose not to think about it… not yet at least. He’ll save it for another day.

He needs to stop thinking about Annabeth before he ruins her sheets without her even here. He kicked his shoes off and marveled at how soft the sheets were for an usually non-slept-in bed. He shifted around, trying to find the best way to present himself. He slid out of his boxers and tosssed them on the floor behind him and used the comforter between his legs to cover up.

He laid back and closed his eyes for a second when he heard the door open, he smiled and sat up.

“Why are you naked in my bed?” Percy probably jumped twelve feet in the air at Mr. Chase’s voice.

“Ah, Mr. Chase, I- uh- was um- wha- how are you, sir?” Percy held his hands over his crotch, realizing he tossed them towards the door… behind Mr. Chase.

“I recommend answering me, boy, before I make you.” Percy was in no condition to be laughing at anyone but himself and yet he snorted.

Annabeth walked in, “hey, Dad, do you happen to know where i put my— Percy?”

She had a look of excitement, which meant she was happy he was there but also a look of horror as she realized what had happened.

“Care to explain this, Annabeth?” Her father turned to her, but it’s hard to take a man seriously when he tries to parent you after missing his chance for the past twenty-two years.

“I think it’s pretty self explanatory.” She laughed and tossed Percy his boxers. “You went with the fish for this?”

“You know his underwear?”

“We live together at school.”

“You live with a boy?”

“I always have, it’s not like Athena doesn’t have sons?” Her tone was snarky and not helping in keeping Percy under wraps per-se.

“Annabeth—” Percy tried saying it under his breath, his hands now back over his crotch.

“Come on, Perce.” She grabbed his hand and dragged him out.

“It was great to see you, Mr. Chase!” Percy shouted as he was dragged into Annabeth’s room.

Annabeth pushed him into the correct room, where she kissed him hard.

“You’re so stupid.”

“Stupid in love…?”

She pushed him on the bed, her hands pinning him down as she kissed him with fervor.  “So, you gave my dad a strip show. . Should I be jealous?” She sputtered between kisses.

Percy pulled back, “not helping.”

“Oh, jealousy isn’t your thing?”

“No, your dad isn’t my thing.”

Annabeth could only giggle as he kissed her neck.

[arielovessims]

The New Heiress Chapter 2, Part 5

“Mr. and Mrs. Summerdream, thank you for agreeing to meet with me today.”

“There is something very important that I would like to discuss with you, and I am hoping for your favorable response.”

“As you know, Puck and I have been best friends for a long time, and that we eventually developed feelings for each other. To get straight to the point, I am asking for his hand in marriage.”

“I know that you don’t want him and your family to be involved in the feud, but there has been peace in this town for the last seven years, and that is all thanks to you, Mr. Summerdream. I will also do my best to help maintain that peace.”

“Most importantly, I do not see anyone else in my future other than Puck. I love him, I really do. I hope you can see that.”

“We do see that you two are very much in love, my dear. And personally, I no longer have any qualms with your association to the feud. My only concern is if you two are truly prepared. Marriage is no fairytale. Nevertheless, if you are sure and ready, you have my blessing. But it is nothing without Titania’s approval too. She is, after all, the head of this family.”

“Of course you have my blessing, Hermia. No need for formalities or tradition, but we do appreciate you coming to us first. The fact that you wanted to seek our approval already tells us how much you value this.”

“But as Oberon said, please make sure you are ready first. We understand that as heiress, you might feel pressured to get married, but the both of you are still very young. And you know Puck, he has a childlike heart.”

“You are right. I am actually not in a hurry to get married, in fact I am frightened, but I just wanted to ask for your approval as early as now, for reassurance. And now, knowing that I have your support, I can plan my future with less anxiety.”

“Of course, it will all still be up to you and Puck, whatever you decide. We just wanted to give you advice because we have seen so many couples who used to be so in love, to end up divorced, and we don’t want that to happen to you.”

“If you ever need marriage or parental advice, you can always come to us.”

“I need to go now. Thank you so much for your time.”

“It’s been a pleasure. We would be delighted to have you as part of our family, Hermia. I hope all goes well with the two of you.”

“Good morning, Daddy.”

“Good morning, sweetie. You’re up early today? It’s Sunday.”

“I made sure to get up while the others are still asleep because I want to talk to you alone.”

“What is it, my dear? Is it so serious that you don’t want your siblings to know?”

“About your wedding, Daddy. I don’t want to be a flower girl anymore.”

“Oh, who will be our flower girl, then? Is something the matter, Ariel? Are you upset about the wedding?”

“No, it’s not about you and Uncle Kent, it’s just... I don’t think I’m a girl.”

“Oh. So does that mean...?”

“I don’t think I’m a boy, either.”

“I don’t understand why there has to be things for boys and things for girls. I like things for both.”

“And it makes me uncomfortable to think about my... you know. We are learning sex education in biology class and our teacher taught us about how there are people who are not male or female, and that’s when I knew.”

“People might think I’m too young to be thinking and deciding about this, but I’m nearly a teenager, and I’m pretty sure this is who I am. So I guess instead of a flower girl, I can just be called... a flower... child?”

“Are you upset, Daddy?”

“Oh no, Ariel, no. I’m just... processing it. But I think I understand.”

“Thank you Daddy! It means so much to me that you understand and accept who I am.”

“Well, we didn’t learn about those things when I was a boy, and I didn’t even know I liked men too until I got older.”

“Of course I accept who you are, my love. And you will forever be my baby. Didn’t I tell you that you could be whoever you wanted to be?”

“I’m so lucky you’re my dad.”

“What kind of father would I be if I didn’t love you for who you are?”

“Do you think Mommy would have accepted it too?”

“Yes, I think she would.”

“Of course you’d be here again.”

“I wanted to be alone, there’s too much people inside.”

“So, are you ready to tell me your secret? Or should I tell Dad that you were lying about where you’ve been the other night?”

“What do you mean?”

“I called Fabian, and unfortunately for you, it was his mother who picked up the phone and said there was no sleepover at their house like you claimed. So just tell me where you’ve been. If you don’t, I will ask Bottom, because I know she’s in on your secret.”

“Look, brother dear. I know I’m annoying, and nosy, and whatever else you want to call me. But I’m your sister, and I worry about you. When we were little, you always looked out for me because I always got in trouble, didn’t you? And now it seems our roles have switched. Now I have to look out for you, because you’ve been acting really suspicious. Whatever it is you’re doing, I just have a gut feeling that there’s something wrong.”

“Okay, I will tell you. But you have to promise me that you will never tell anyone. Not Dad, not Nonno or Nonna, not anyone. Do you promise?”

“Why not? How serious is this, Ben?”

“It’s a matter of life and death. Now, do you promise?”

“Alright, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Good. Well, I do have a girlfriend.”

“Ooooh, I knew it. Is that it, then? You know you can just tell Nonno that you’re not interested in Olivia.”

“Listen. She’s not just any other girl. I met her at that party we snuck into when we were kids.”

“No... no way...”

“She’s a Capp.”

“Ben... what on earth?! I thought you were the obedient and dutiful twin... do you want to give Nonno a heart attack? Have you learned nothing from what happened with Romeo? And Mom? Dad will kill you!”

“Listen, Bea. I don’t want this feud to go on forever. Don’t you too? And she’s not that different from us, so why can’t I be with her, just because our grandpa had a falling out with her grandpa? None of that was her fault. She just happened to be a Capp, and we happened to be in love. That’s why I’m going to fight for her, and marry her eventually.”

“Oh, God. You’ve gone off the rails. This is all my fault. I never should’ve let you follow me to that party.”

“I still have a functioning brain, and I also have a functioning heart. Come on Bea, you should be on my side here. Don’t you want peace in this town once and for all? Our generation... we don’t deserve to get dragged into the mess our grandparents created.”

“Of course I want peace, but I don’t want to get disowned too. Do you have a plan, then?”

“Well, not yet entirely. But I know we will have Aunt Bianca’s support when we tell her.”

“Well, loverboy. If you don’t have Plan A perfectly mapped out yet, you better have a Plan B for if we get kicked out.”

“So you’re with me then? Thank you, Beatrice!”

“Well, what can I do? I know I can’t stop you. And you’d do the same for me. I guess we’re more alike than we thought, huh?”

[songtoyou]

Chapter Seven: August

Would You Call That Love

Pairing: Chris Evans x Raina Morrison (OC)

Rating: PG to PG-13 (Might be 18+ for some chapters)

Description: There was always that one person Chris Evans tended to turn to when he was not in a committed relationship, Raina Morrison. He could confide in her about things going on in his life that he did not feel comfortable talking to his family or close friends about. Chris and Raina were able to establish a way to openly communicate with one another, but also being respectful of the other’s time and needs. It was the only constant “relationship” he had, but without all the nonsense of trying to build a life together. A “friends with benefits” situation. However, what happens when Chris starts rethinking his “relationship” with Raina and if either are willing to pursue something more?

Chapter Rating: PG

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,889

Author’s Note: Okay, I think I am back to paying more attention to this fic. I already know how I want to approach the next chapter. 

Sadly, I do not know Chris Evans or anyone in his family, and this is just a fictional take on his life. I do not permit this fic to be reposted on other platforms.  

Tag List: @patzammit​

On the whole, George’s birthday celebration went well. Raina turned out to be right that her dad did not make the trip alone. She and Chris met up with her dad for a birthday lunch, where they got introduced to Diane. The woman was in her early fifties and was a widow. It turns out, George and Diane had met a few years ago at a group therapy session for people still grieving the loss of a family member. The two recently got back in touch through Facebook and have continued to talk. It was only recently that George and Diane began dating. 

It was all new for Raina to see her dad with another woman. She was aware that he had been out on dates before but never actually seen the man in the company of other women. Raina was glad to have Chris around for support. He definitely helped ease any tension or uncomfortableness during brunch by telling stories and keep the atmosphere light.

However, Raina could not deny that Diane was a nice woman and liked how attentive she was to George and vice versa. Raina noticed the older couple had a nice camaraderie with one another. Best of all was that Diane made her dad laugh and smile. That is what Raina wanted for her dad, to be happy. Who was she to hold any grudges or contempt because her dad was living his life? It is what Marie would have wanted. She would be happy that her husband and daughter were living their life to the fullest.

That night after the show, George and Diane came backstage to see Raina. Her dad gave her flowers, which she cherished. 

“Amazing, sweetheart. Absolutely brilliant,” George gushed, hugging his daughter. 

“Thank you, Dad.”

“I cried so many times, I lost count,” Diane revealed. “You have such a beautiful voice.”

“Oh my God, stop. You both are going to make me cry,” said Raina. Their compliments touched her. “I’m so glad you both got the see the show. Especially you,” she added, pointing to her dad. “I know it is late, but thanks for sticking it out.” 

“Anything for you, kiddo,” replied George. “So, lunch again, tomorrow night?”

“Absolutely. You two going to sightsee tomorrow?” asked Raina

“We got some stops we want to make. Like George, I never make it over to the City. We’re going to stop by the Metropolitan.”

“She begged me to take her,” teased George and wrapped his arm around Diane. 

“Well, it is a great place. The Museum of Modern Art is really cool. I took Chris there not too long ago. He enjoyed it as well. Museums, great places to have dates,” stated Raina happily.

When Raina bid George and Diane a goodnight, she got out of her costume and took off her makeup. She put on a pair of comfortable jeans, a long sleeve shirt, running shoes and headed off home to Chris. He opted not to attend the show that night as he had other prior commitments. 

Chris had been staying at Raina’s place for a couple of weeks, ever since they revealed their true feelings for one another. He did make a trip back up to Concord, but it was to bring some of his things and Dodger back to New York. Raina was surprised that Chris brought Dodger with him but was more than happy to have the four-legged creature around. Raina loved that dog immensely, and it warmed her heart to see the two lounging on the couch when she got home. 

Normally, she wouldn’t allow dogs on the furniture, but it was hard to deny such cute faces.

“Hey, you two,” Raina spoke, getting both of their attention. “What have you been up to?”

“Not much,” Chris spoke, turning towards Raina. “Move Bubba,” he nudged Dodger away to get up off the couch. He greeted Raina with a kiss and got out a wine glass from the cupboard.

“Red or white?” he asked her.

“White,” she replied and sat down next to Dodger. “Hey, kid. How are you doing?”

Dodger also proceeded to greet Raina with kisses and laid himself across her lap. She began scratching behind his ears. 

“Here you go, my dear,” said Chris handing Raina the glass of wine.

“Thank you, darling. Dad and Diane enjoyed the show. They had a good time. They’re cute together,” Raina confessed to Chris.

He nestled down next to Raina and Dodger, who was now laid across both of their laps. “Your dad looks happy, and Diane is great. You’re right; they are cute. It is nice that they found each other. Looks like they are the real deal. You can handle that, right? If your dad and Diane were to take their relationship to the next level?”

Raina knew Chris was referring to marriage. “I want my dad happy and not alone. He has taken his time when it comes to dating. He wasn’t in a rush to move on, which, honestly, I appreciate. Dad has supported me all these years, so I will return the favor,” she answered. 

The two sat in comfortable silence while watching the news. Of course, Chris had it on CNN. “How can you stand watching this stuff? At least watch MSNBC. They have Rachel Maddow,” Raina complained.

“I’m trying to stay informed, that is all. You used to watch this stuff too when Trump got elected to office,” Chris noted with a smirk.

“Oh God, do not remind me. I was obsessed with CNN and MSNBC. The only reason I watched the news 24/7 because I was waiting for the bomb to finally go off, and they’d find something to implicate Trump, and he would get kicked out of office, but nothing ever happened. It was exhausting.”

Nudging Dodger off of her, Raina got up and downed her glass of wine. “I’m going to take a shower and head to bed. Tomorrow, I’m going to have lunch with dad and Diane. Did you want to come?”

“Uh, I can’t. I have an appointment with Josh tomorrow. His still has some additional shading to do on the eagle,” said Chris, indicating to his covered chest of the unfished eagle tattoo. “Hey, before you head for a shower and bed, you got another vase of flowers. I put them over there on the table,” he motioned, pointing to the flowers, which were a lovely medley of lavender and white blooms. The clear cylinder vase offsets the colors of the flowers nicely.

Raina noticed a small envelope within the flowers and opened it. 

Dearest Raina,

Congratulations on the success of Moulin Rouge. I am so happy for you. It is a great joy to see someone you know accomplished what they’ve been hoping for and working toward. You are proof that good things come to those who are willing to sacrifice to reach a worthwhile goal. Words can’t express how proud I am. You have the creativity and determination to do whatever you can dream. It really warms my heart to see you achieving your goal of being on Broadway. 

Warmest regards,

T.H.

“Aw, how sweet,” Raina gushed at the note.

“What?” Chris asked. “Who sent the flowers?”

“Tom sent them,” she answered, taking a whiff of the flowers. They smelt heavenly. 

Chris was confused. “Tom? Tom who?”

“Hiddleston,” was all Raina said and placed the card in the flower arrangement. “He’s in New York as well doing that play, ‘Betrayal.’ We should stop by and see it. You know, to show support and all.”

Chris watched as Raina headed into the bedroom, but he still sat there a little stunned. He looked to make sure Raina was indeed out of earshot; he got up to look at the card. 

“What the fuck,” Chris said, stunned at the card. ‘Who the fuck does this guy think he is? Sending my girlfriend flowers and writing all that in the card!’ he thought to himself.

“Let’s go for a walk, Bubba. Come on,” Chris said to Dodger and got the dog’s leash. He figured some fresh would help clear his mind.

Walking the usual route for Dodger, Chris looked around to see if there were anyone around. Thankfully, the street was quiet, and no sign of fans or paparazzi. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Chris always felt bad when he lit one but couldn’t deny how the nicotine helped relax his anxieties. And right now, he was in desperate need of something to take his mind off the card.

Chris knew he was acting ridiculous. That Raina had no lingering feelings for Tom, she told him that to his face. However, he could not get the small feeling of jealousy bubbling under his skin. Plus, Tom was his friend. They respected one another. It wasn’t like Tom wouldn’t have found out with the rest of the world that Chris and Raina were in a relationship. Everyone knew! 

Looking down at Dodger, Chris saw that the pup was ready to head back inside. “Okay, we’re going to head back home.” The dog picked up the pace at the mention.

These past few weeks with Raina had been nice. Chris liked the domestic routine he had gotten into with Raina. It was definitely something he would like to continue, maybe say in Massachusetts. Unfortunately, Chris knew he would not be able to get Raina to live in Massachusetts full-time. She set on staying in New York. That was her home. It was the place where she grew up and most likely wanted to stay.

‘Don’t start overthinking things, Christopher,’ he more rational side began to say, which oddly sounded like his mother. 

Finally making it back home, Chris made his way into the master bedroom with Dodger following along. He saw that Raina had finished her shower and was already in bed. Dodger got up on the bed to nestle in the middle. Chris tried to get him off the bed, but Raina wrapped her arm around the furball.

“No, he is fine. He’s like a stuffed animal,” she pleaded and snuggled closer to Dodger.

Chris sighed but couldn’t help but smile at the sight. It was precious, his girl and his dog. He quickly took out his phone and snapped a picture. Chris stored it in his ‘Raina’ file on his phone. A keepsake of pictures of his girl that were just for him and not for public consumption. That is what his entire friendship and now relationship with Raina had been, something that was just for him. It was never for the public to scrutinize or even fawn over. He wasn’t with her for PR or added media hype. Chris always felt that what he had with Raina was honest and true. A real friendship that developed organically between two people that had progressed towards real love and devotion.

Sadly, both Chris and Raina knew there would be naysayers and critics watching their every move to see if any cracks were forming. With the positive press, it will ultimately bring out the negatives. It was the way of the game. A game Chris and Raina knew they had to be up for the challenge if they wanted their relationship to flourish and not burn out in flames in front of the whole world.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Not Here for Me

If he had the choice, Dean never would have stepped foot inside this place. But Sam was curious - and curious is a hell of a lot better than the depression that clung to him day after day since Jess left him. So Dean swallows his pride, joins Sam as his babysitter. So he won't get find himself in any trouble. Trouble, however, is more likely to find Dean. In the bowels of his personal hell, can Dean resist temptations that have plagued him his entire life? Or will someone descend and lend a hand, showing Dean that the darkness he imagined only lived inside his own mind. And all that he feared was not as he seemed if he let himself step out of the shadows of his past.

(Dean/Cas, Human AU, 2000s-set, 8,113 words, tw: Dean’s childhood & upbringing by one John Winchester)

ao3

           His ears hurt. Dean stares at a small puddle of maybe-water-maybe-vodka that collected on the bar top, focusing on it instead of the pounding bass drum and blender whirring that’s somehow considered music. At least that’s what Sam told him seconds after entering, meeting Dean’s disgruntlement with patented exasperation. Floppy bangs pushed back for its full effect. “You’re such an old man,” he said, “Can you pretend you’re happy being here?”

           “That depends,” he fired back, brow raised. Pulled taut like a bowstring, retort knocked and waiting. He lets it fly, “How quick do you think I can get drunk?”

           The answer – very quickly. Dean balked when Sam ordered them these bubbling potions the color of lava lamps mixed with Barbie vomit. Served in dainty glasses Dean could easily break if he applied even a fraction of pressure between his thumb and forefinger. Rim lined with salt and a wedge of lime. Sam suggested they cheers. He chugged his before Sam raised the glass. He flagged the bartender, ignoring Sam’s glare. “What the hell did I drink?” he asked.

           The bartender pursed his lips, eyes dragging over Dean’s frame as if he were stripping him bare in the room; peeling away the layers of his jacket and plaid button-down and faded band tee like they were tissue, freckled-and-pale skin freed for the bartender’s enjoyment. He sowed seeds of unwanted fantasies. Dean cleared his throat, repeating the question, digging out those dropped seedlings before the bartender’s imagined wanderings might flower.

           If Dean wanted to encourage attention, he’d have dressed like him. Mesh shirt with uneven holes, some stretched wider than most. Its woven fabric failed at hiding the sweat that dampened his obviously spray-tanned skin, strips of orange paint peeling like a rind. The bartender wiped his brow, a streak of bright white skin revealed. “A strawberry margarita.”

           “Of course,” Dean nodded at the selection behind him, “got anything that doesn’t taste too… sugary?” A frown dragged every wrinkle and crease forward on the bartender’s face. He clarified, “A beer. What beer do you have?”

           They didn’t have any. Dean asked for a vodka neat, Sam criticizing his choice as the bartender retreated. “You’re so boring.” That was three vodka neats ago.

           Sam left his station beside Dean soon after his first drink, swept away in the tide of bodies pulsing in the center of the club. Each individual moving to a different beat. Their dancing unsyncopated and wild. Yet, despite how hopeless it looked, bodies acting independently from one another, the writhing mass shared one mind. Although, even assimilated by the crowd, Dean can keep track of his little brother. Head poking free of the mass like some odd periscope. Scanning every few seconds until their gazes met and then submerging once more.

           Dean isn’t searching for him now. He studies his small puddle of definitely-vodka. He swiped his finger through it earlier and sucked it dry; cheeks hollow, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. Dean heard someone’s glass shatter over the wretched din of noise, timed perfectly with his finger popping out of his mouth like a burst bubble. The sharp smell of alcohol fries his nose hairs. It dulls the throbbing ache caused by his surroundings, Dean’s frayed nerves sparking underneath, jumping like live wires since Sam detailed their plans for this evening.

           “You wanna go to a gay bar?”

           Sam rolled his eyes with so much force they rattled inside his skull like a novelty magic eight-ball, his hazel gaze landing on him, answer written neatly, ‘It is decidedly so’. Dean shook it again, scoffing. The answer changed. Not in Dean’s favor. ‘Yes – definitely’.

           “Why?” Dean leaned across their small table, “Are you…?” He asks with a wry twist of his lips and a limp wrist.

           “I don’t know,” Sam told him.

           “You don’t know? Isn’t that a requirement for a – a gay bar?”

           “Not necessarily,” he explained, sitting across from Dean finally. Sam’s windbreaker swooshed with every dramatic sweep of his arm. “I mean… sure, most of the people there are gay. But it’s not like they make you flash some official gay card at the door…” Expression pinched, he powered head, avoiding the conversational detour and sticking to the main highway of his argument. “Besides, there’s more than just gay.”

           Dean nodded, “Like what?”

           “Bisexual, Pansexual… Asexual, Demisexual –“

           “I think I might be that,” Dean laughed, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “It means you’re attracted to Demi Moore, right? Because if Kutcher weren’t in the picture, I’d definitely be all up in her business!”

           “Don’t be an ass, Dean,” Sam said, “Demisexuality is a real thing, okay? It’s only being attracted to people who you have a deep, intimate bond with.”

           “Oh, is that so?” He stretched his legs out from beneath the table, knocking into Sam’s. “That what you’re learning in college? I thought you wanted to be a lawyer. Or were you a bit presumptuous when you made that e-mail, lawboy?”

           “I still do,” Sam muttered, cheeks tinted a dark shade. “I… it was one of these classes I have to take, for my degree. Made me think about things I never knew about and – and stuff I said that, looking back, was… kind of offensive. That we joked about, what dad would say, sometimes…” Dean tuned Sam out partly, a refreshing static separating him from Sam’s words. Standard whenever Sam mentioned their dad, or if he saw something that reminded him of dad, or if dad cared enough to leave a voicemail for Sam on their shared answering machine. The little antenna on his brain’s radio drooped slightly, making Dean fiddle for the signal. He managed to catch the remainder of Sam’s monologue, barely. “…it’s a whole new world!”

           “No, it isn’t,” Dean sighed, tiredly scrubbing his chin. “Sam, you’ve only ever liked girls.”

           “To my knowledge!” Sam insisted, “I might’ve liked a boy, possibly. Maybe. I mean… do you remember Trevor?”

           “Trevor?”

           “Y’know, Trevor,” he fumbled through his memories, silence painstakingly ticking past. The clicking of their kitchen clock suddenly, obnoxiously loud. “That kid from that town we stayed at for about two months my sophomore year of high school, up in Montana.”

           Dean remembered that town. GED burning a hole in his pocket, he bummed through town hunting for a job since dad hightailed it for a phantom thread of a lead on their mother’s murderer. Not many folks were hiring, but a stern man in a rough-hewn Stetson and bushy mustache needed an extra ranch hand. Introduced Dean to his son, Dean’s new co-worker. Steve was a nice boy, older than him by a few years, with a warm temperament, skin tanned like leather from a life of fieldwork, and legs bent further than Dean’s by riding horses since birth.

           One day while tending the horses, Steve noticed how Dean’s focus drifted every few seconds, drawn to the saddles. “We can go for a ride,” he mentioned, “one night, around the property.”

           “I wouldn’t even know how to get on a horse, let alone ride it.”

           Steve chuckled, shoulders barely shaking from the act. His honeyed eyes were earnest and gooey in the filtered sunlight, distracting Dean more than saddles ever did. “I can show you,” he said, “it ain’t too hard.” He proved that by using their lunch break to teach Dean how to mount a horse. He demonstrated it, legs wrapping around its thick flanks, showboating and urging the steed forward by tapping his heels while Dean laughed, head dizzy from spinning, following Steve and the horse, as well as other things. “Think you can try it?” Dean didn’t. He shook his head, lip trapped between his teeth. Speaking felt blasphemous in that moment. “What if I helped?” Steve offered a hand, easily hefting Dean up atop the horse. They shared the saddle, Dean bracketed by Steve’s sturdy arms and supported by his firm chest. Dean felt every tug of the reigns as Steve guided the horse around the stable, and every whispered breath along his neck. Steve dismounted first, holding Dean’s hips and helping him down later. “Now imagine how nice that’d be, out on the plains, with nothing but the moon watching us?” He painted a pretty picture, even if Dean’s copied brushstrokes were shaky and inelegant. They made plans the following Friday.

           John returned Tuesday, and they left Wednesday. He’d never been near a horse since.

           But they weren’t talking about Steve. Why did he think of Steve? “Trevor?” Dean repeated, still unsure what Sam’s flailing meant.

           “My lab partner,” he said, “We bonded over our mutual appreciation of Vince Vincente and the Goonies… there were some days he’d give me the extra sandwich his mom packed, for some reason?”

           “You mean to tell me you had a crush on this Trevor kid?”

           “I might have!” Sam rose, shouting, “He was… he treated me well, and I liked hanging around him.”

           “He was your friend, Sam. Friend,” Dean sunk deeper into his seat, kicking Sam’s abandoned chair. “You have had friends in your life, right? I know I joke about you being a loser, but I never really meant it…”

           “Of course I had friends,” he scowled, “I have friends.”

           “And you’ve had girlfriends,” Dean reminded him, “Hell, you and Jess only broke up about a month ago! Did Trevor give you feelings like Jess did?”

           Sam visibly faltered, stooping slightly. Footing lost as the ground trembled beneath his feet. “Well… no, I mean – not, not that I can recall…” Spluttering, his hands balled tighter into fists. “But maybe it’s different, feelings for a boy and – and feelings for a girl.”

           “Sam, feelings are feelings regardless of who’s on the other end of ‘em. You just… you just know –“

           Like he regressed two decades, Sam stomped his foot in a very childish way. Whining, “God, Dean, can’t you be a little supportive!” Immediately his face stretched in regret, rubber band snapping as he leaped forward in years to his appropriate age. It didn’t matter; the barb struck exactly where it intended, puncturing soft underbelly, unguarded by Dean’s calloused defenses.

           Dean stiffened; gaze drawn to a whorl in the table’s finish. His thumb pressed hard at its center. He snorted, but it sounded more like an engine backfiring. “Supportive huh?” he asked, smile wide and wry, “You want me to be more supportive?” Thousands of examples flickered like a clip reel in his mind. Small things. Dean skipping breakfast so Sam can eat the last of their cereal. Wearing the same clothes, weeks on end, because Sam needed a new wardrobe, reedy body bigger than what they had. Risking arrest with every five-finger discount or hustled game or back alley trick; supporting the way their dad couldn’t.

           Bigger things. Lying, letting Sam play over at other kids’ houses; Dean frozen, watching the door in fear their dad came home early. Hiding letters from admissions for Sam, secreted from beneath their dad’s nose. He was an ever-present figure during those last few years. A shadowy patrol that continually followed since they were old enough. Dad had more use for men then children. Dean went as far as distracting him one starless night while Sam escaped, then accepted the consequences of his actions. He joined Sam weeks later with Baby’s keys and a split lip caused by, who he described to Sam as, some jackass biker. It healed in time for an interview, for a job he still has. Six days a week spent under the hoods of cars, working long hours and earning money to support them both, like before. Giving Sam the very freedoms he’d been denied – time, luxury, and safety.

           He held these words firm in his mouth, smoke bitter as it roiled. But, in his next breath, Dean released the past with a low hiss. Darkness rising, dissipating. “It’s okay,” he assured Sam, cutting off his rambling apologies. “Really.” He glanced at Sam’s outfit, fully taking in his choices. A color-blocked jacket of bright colors, reds, yellows, and oranges, that glowed over his tight, dark button-down. A hint of some printed graphic peeking behind the half-zippered flaps. Combined with a pair of Sam’s most distressed denim and flip-flops because It’s California, Dean, and you know how awful my feet sweat. As a whole Sam presented like a grade-A douchebag. Entirely unprepared for any bar, let alone a gay one. Dean’s instincts kicked into overdrive.

           “Fine,” he decided, standing, too, “you want supportive? Then I’m coming with you.”

           “What?” Sam trailed Dean’s wake as he left for his bedroom, cornering him while he slipped into some ratty white sneakers left by his dresser. “You’re coming?”

           “Sure.”

           “But… why?” Sam slammed his hand on Dean’s doorframe, blocking his exit. “You’re not gay.”

           Dean frowned at him, “I thought you didn’t have to be gay to go to a gay bar?”

           “Yeah, but –“ He knocked Sam’s arm loose, passing his brother on the way towards the door. Sam followed, buzzing behind like a mosquito. “You don’t seriously wanna go, do you?”

           “Obviously not,” Dean said, sliding into an oversized leather jacket. Another relic of their dad’s. Dean couldn’t leave without it. He couldn’t explain why. “But since you’re insisting on doing this, I might as well make sure you don’t get taken advantage of.”

           “That won’t happen.”

           “You kidding? A guy like you, wobbling around like a fawn – a sort of gay Bambi… you’d get eaten alive instantly. Or drugged.” He squeezed Sam’s shoulder, the finger of his other hand pressed into his brother’s chest like it was an intercom button, pushing so forcefully Dean thought it might burst through the other side. “I don’t need the stress of finding out you died at this gay bar because some idiot overestimated the amount of roofies they’d need to take down your elephant-sized ass.”

           Sam cringed at his worst-case scenario but hadn’t shrugged his hand off. Instead he returned the gesture with his own comforting touch around Dean’s wrist. “Okay,” Sam said, “you can come. Don’t embarrass me though, by being an ass.”

           “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

           “Hey,” Sam said later, Baby idling in front of a red light. Zeppelin blaring through her speakers, making conversation difficult. Dean lowered it for his brother. “What’d you think dad’d say, if he knew where we were going?”

           Dad’s opinion, of his two sons wasting their night in a gay bar, would ruffle the feathers of Sam’s newfound sensitivity. He hears their dad’s voice clearly, delivering a tirade about their terrible choices. Dean spent his time at the bar drowning that voice since arriving. He drains his fourth-or-fifth glass of its contents. It all splashes like the others, into his empty, churning stomach. Dad’s voice, the awful music, his nerves and senses slip out of mind. He sees dregs of vodka left in his glass. He uses the same finger that swiped through the tiny bar puddle and swirls it there, coating in in more vodka. Again, Dean sucks on his finger.

           Someone approaches while his lips graze knuckle.

           “If you get tired of that finger…” a stranger says on his right, reeking of cherry-and-liquored stink. Dean’s face scrunches at the smell. “I’ve got this big thing you can suck on…” His gaze wanders to where the stranger is.

           He’s a man with severely gelled hair, plastered back. A few strands were missed in the initial sweep and clung to his forehead, shiny and wet, making it seem like oil slowly bled down. He chokes on a gold chain that resembles a collar, broad neck seizing as he breathes. Steroids, Dean wagers, given how bulging veins snake past the sleeves of his stretched-thin shirt. Which makes him doubt the man’s ���big’ claim. He arches a stupidly perfect, sculpted brow, leaning far past the bubble of Dean’s personal space. “You’d definitely have a lot more fun than playing with your finger,” he adds, taking Dean’s silence as an apparent invitation.

           He can’t remember when his finger slid free, but it did and, while spit-slick, jabs at Roidy’s brick-wall chest. “Not interested pal,” he says, “Why don’t you try a different fella?”

           “What if I don’t want a different fella?”

           “Then you are s’stupid as you look.” Dean waves, flagging the bartender for his next vodka. “Why don’t you take your big package crap elsewhere?”

           Undeterred, Roidy leans closer. Fingertips ghosting where Dean holds his glass as the bartender refills it. He tenses, squirming, imagining the very oil that drips from the man’s head coats his fingers, too, and through his touch smears it around Dean’s wrist. “Listen, you might not know this… but I made a promise tonight. That I would fuck the hottest, sexiest piece of trade in the club tonight. And congratulations… that’s you.”

           Dean squints, mockingly cooing at the other’s assessment. “I feel honored,” he says, sarcasm heavy like the hand pouring his drinks this evening. “Special, even,” Dean continues, “don’t know how anyone could turn y’away after that.”

           “No one does.”

           “Then I guess I’ll be the first?” Dean asks. The bartender huffs softly under breath, he and Dean reveling silently. They connect over this interloper’s antics. With a subtle shift in the bartender’s gaze, a snide flash of teeth, Dean understands. He’s not the first, only the latest. Certainly not the last.

           What he wants to be, though, is left alone. That doesn’t seem likely. Not with how Roidy gloms onto Dean’s side, an arm curling around his shoulders. Not if his biting smile meant anything, tearing through Dean’s dismissals. Not as Roidy whispers, barely audible because of the music, “If you’re going for discreet, I can do that… play along, that is. It wouldn’t be worth it if it were easy…”

           Dean’s mood sinks under such nauseating charms. He looks for assistance in the bartender, but he swam to safer shores at some point, serving drinks elsewhere. Unfortunate. He was starting to like him.

           Roidy snuffles Dean’s neck, alarms clanging within his head. Or possibly it’s coming from the many speakers placed throughout the bar. Either way that plus everything he drank, make thinking complicated and tortuously slow, like Roidy nosing along his collarbone. His thoughts fall apart before they make it to his mouth, Dean opening and shutting and opening his mouth hoping a few words can crawl themselves into existence. He manages a few garbled syllables that are greatly ignored.

           As swiftly as Roidy began his assault, he’s being tugged off him. Dean gasps for breath, spinning, facing the dancefloor now. Glaring at Roidy who glares elsewhere, at the owner of the hand that cleaved this growth from Dean’s side.

           It’s beautiful, for a hand. Tan, palm curled around Dean’s shoulder protectively. No cuts or scabs across the knuckles, nor any scars. If he were to touch it, he imagines the skin there is soft and smooth. Dean’s gaze travels, curious who might own such a gentle hand.

           Chasing the sinewy lines of his savior’s arms to broad shoulders, Dean feels his chest tighten in a desperate need for fresh air. However, it’s not terrifying like before with Roidy. This is unique and comforting. He inhales, then exhales. He has no trouble breathing. He still feels that tightness. Crushing once he finds his savior’s face.

           Marble. Statues are carved from stone – marble, specifically – he remembers from an old teacher’s droned lecture that returned with vengeance. Spoken during a field trip to some museum where Dean barely stayed awake as they flew room to room, always seconds from collapsing, waking momentarily for the next exhibit. Except when they entered a room of statues, and Dean managed fifteen minutes of attentiveness. Aided by chiseled features of a statue hidden between two columns near the farthest corner of the room. A man, naked, endowed, frozen in repose and staring into the distance. It might have been at a bathroom door, Dean’s memory supplied, but the statue saw beyond such borders. Dean wished he knew what existed where only statues can see. All he understood was the expression. Marble evoked steel. The statue displayed determination, tempered and ready for whatever barrels forward, with a hint of sorrow he must greet what is to come. The same expression shone on his savior’s face triggering his sudden recollection. Only his was brighter because of those eyes. An incomparable blue.

           On first glance, Dean wonders if that statue perhaps came alive. Journeyed from wherever it stood, in that town whose name he can’t summon up, to save him. Except that’s impossible. That statue is most likely there, forever guarding the bathroom. Blue Eyes is a man with his own history, parallel to Dean’s until he jumped in playing hero. But why?

           He can’t think of a reasonable explanation, because Blue Eyes finally speaks. “Hey babe,” he growls, Dean jolting from the pitch, like he stepped, shoeless, on glass shards littering the floor. An abundance of them must slip loose from Blue Eyes’ mouth whenever it opens after they shredded his vocal cords. “Sorry I’m late, traffic was crazy.”

           What?

           “What?”

           “Didn’t you get my text?” he asks Dean. Then, subtly checking on Roidy who watches, fuming from the sidelines, he makes an odd clicking sound. “Or were your hands full, and you couldn’t check?”

           “His hands were full all right,” Roidy interrupts, not waiting for Dean’s response. He tries shoving Blue Eyes back, but he refuses to budge. His strength real and not decorative like Roidy’s. He falters slightly; adjusts course and snags a fistful of Blue Eyes’ white button-down in case Blue Eyes wastes energy trying what Roidy did. “Why don’t you leave and let your babe hang with someone who’s there when he needs him?”

           Blue Eyes squints, lips slowly stretching, like a match dragged across a striker, until the flame of a smirk dances into view. “I can assure you, that’s exactly who I am. Wouldn’t you agree?”

           He does. He should. Blue Eyes listens for Dean’s answer, chin dipped patiently. Roidy’s is, as well. Both wait on him, Dean the difference between favor and disgrace. It’s a non-decision. He eases into his savior’s warmth, improvising by slipping his thumb through a belt loop on the other side. “Exactly,” Dean says, “you’re all I need, sweetie.”

           Dean knows there’s no reason to turn from Blue Eyes. Temptation wins, and he chances a peek at the loser. Roidy fumes, his sneer somehow making him appear uglier. He wipes at his brow, disrupting those few, sticky strands, and reveals covered pockmarks. They appear horn-like, in the bar’s dim lighting. That cherry-and-liquor scent sours, suddenly pungent like rotten eggs. “Whatever,” he mutters, letting Blue Eyes go, “your boyfriend’s a fucking tease.”

           “Go fuck yourself,” Dean drawls, laughing, squeezing Blue Eyes tighter. Encouraged by his presence. “At least you’ll know it’s consen-u-tal!”

           Roidy departs dreadfully, saluting them with his middle finger. Dean responds with a raised glass that quickly empties itself down his throat. Slumping onto the bar, releasing Blue Eyes, Dean motions for the bartender’s return. “Hey,” he slurs, “another vodk-eh and, uh…” He scowls, studying the rack, an array of alcohol lined up. “Shit, man,” he asks his savior, “what’s your poison?”

           “Tequila,” Blue Eyes tells the bartender, frowning at Dean, “You sure you’re good for this?”

           “What’s that s’posed to mean?”

           “That you look like you’ve had enough.” Blue Eyes accepts the glass of tequila, tapping its rim against his chin, lime wedge hitting the corner of his quirked lips. “How many of those vodkas have you had?”

           “’Bout this many,” he answers, hand open. Dean hums, considering the number. “Maybe one or two more. Or less? I must’ve lost count…” He shrugs, sipping at his latest drink. “S’okay, though, I once drank this meathead trucker under the table. A whole bottle of ol’ Jack at this… roadhouse off a highway somewhere east a’here.” Vodka sloshes with each gesture while he retells the story. “So I’ve got tolernance.”

           “Clearly.” Blue Eyes chuckles, and Dean – not sure for what reason – joins him. He can’t hear much of it, but the bits of his laughter that break over the bar’s chaotic din make Dean giddy. “Thank you,” he nods at his tequila, “for the drink.”

           “Hey, I’m the one thankin’ here buddy,” Dean says, “I don’t know what I’d’ve done if you hadn’t stepp-epped in when you did. Probably somethin’ punchy.”

           “He would have deserved it,” he finally tips his glass back. Dean’s Adam’s apple bobs in rhythm with Blue Eyes’, even if his drink rests miles away on the bar top. “Hey,” Blue Eyes continues, smiling, fiddling with the lime wedge, “what’s your name?”

           “Why you wanna know?”

           “Well, usually I know the names of the men who buy me drinks. Especially those who buy them for me after I’ve scared off pervy creeps.”

           “You make a habit of this, then?”

           “No,” Blue Eyes says, “you’re the first.”

           Unlike with Roidy, Dean believes him. “Dean.”

           “Castiel,” he reveals, simultaneously sticking the lime in his mouth. Teeth locked around it, he drains the wedge of its juice. Dean blushes, and the rush of blood to his head brings dizziness. Resting one hand on the bar doesn’t help. Neither does two. Castiel finishes his drink, placing the glass and shriveled lime near Dean’s hands, and yet his sudden lightheadedness persists.

           Castiel must notice this queasiness, because he grazes Dean’s elbow. Uses words Dean cannot presently grasp. A wave of concern sweeps across Castiel’s features, transforming them. Drawing Dean closer, lost in his orbit.

           A diversion is necessary. “So, Cas,” he starts, their faces inches from each other. To talk easier. “You gay?”

           “Uh…” Belatedly, Dean realizes his stupidity. His jaw drops, as if he can vacuum the question back. Pretend he never said it. Castiel, looking saintly under the bar’s neon glow, recovers faster. Replies before Dean might withdraw. “Yeah, yes I’m… I’m gay. Be pretty weird if I wasn’t.”

           “I must be pretty weird, huh,” Dean thinks aloud. He smacks his lips. They taste oddly like a morning where, after playing some hilarious prank on Sam, he came to with old socks stuffed into his duct taped mouth.

           Castiel skews his head to the side. “Why are you weird?”

           “Because…” It’s a bad idea. He recognizes how bad an idea this is. However, recognition and action are completely separate. And while he succeeds in the former, he fails spectacularly with the latter. “I’m not gay.” Then, slurring, he whisper-shouts, “I’m straaaaight.”

           “Really…” Castiel skims through tens of emotions Dean cannot discern with his vodka-addled brain. He settles on detachment, the tightness within his chest loosening as Cas inches backwards. Dean, instinctively, floats closer. That strain returns tenfold, like a python coiled itself around Dean. Squeezes him until Castiel bumps into a patron, bringing their chests flush together. Dean likes it even if he cannot breathe. Castiel smiles, but it’s noticeably different than those previously gifted. “If you’re straight, why are you at a gay bar?”

           “You don’t have to be gay to be in a gay bar,” Dean supplies.

           “It’d be a real plus though.” He barely caught Castiel’s mumbling. He can’t question what was meant, because Castiel clears his throat and repeats his question. “Why did you choose a gay bar for the evening?”

           Dean glances at the dance floor. Sam hadn’t left, enmeshed between writhing bodies. “I’m not here for me. My brother – he thinks he’s gay… or somethin’ like it,” he tells Castiel, snorting when someone other than Sam rakes a paw through his hair. Awkwardness flashes like lightning, disappearing behind forced puppy-dog features and Sam’s too-wide grin. “He’s here expermimenting while I’m the… uh – the moral support.”

           Castiel’s face publicizes his thoughts. The lines of his face twitch in simple patterns that are already familiar to Dean. And the pools of his eyes reflect the subdued variety of his feelings, providing needed transparency. With this change of his features, Dean guesses Castiel’s tensed mouthline and wishbone-bent eyebrows meant awe and respect. “That’s… very nice of you.”

           “Least I can do,” Dean shrugs, tasting sock once more, “it’s not like I’ll need’ta do more. Kid’s straight as a… straight thing.”

           Those pearled emotions seal themselves tightly in a clamshell, Castiel sending them back into murky depths. “How would you know?”

           “Because I’ve known the kid all m’life, Cas. He’s a shit liar… at least to me he is.” Dean settles against the bar, past resurfacing. A clear memory from their younger years. Sam never finishing his dinners, but somehow dropping a clean plate into the trashcan every time. Followed by a question, like clockwork, about taking a walk. “Around the motel,” he said, “nothing further.” His father’s rules. Never plainly set, but strictly enforced. Dean learned of them the hard way. Sam agreed, not even fighting like he usually did. Maybe that’s why, one night, he left their motel a beat after Sam. Dean kept close tabs on his brother. Not stopping him as he disobeyed orders and crossed the street, nor when a crowd of adults poured out of some ritzy venue, stares scathing as he passed. He maintained distance, only toeing nearer as Sam slowed for a better view of the alleyway he paused at, of a three-legged dog hobbling out of a cardboard box, tongue lolling, tail wagging. Sam greeted him in similar fashion, kneeling at the edge where light and shadows gathered. He pet and pet and pet this stray, stopping only to reveal the portion of dinner he hadn’t eaten wrapped in several paper towels. Dean scurried off in the direction of the motel, asking Sam how his walk was once he returned. He relates all this to Castiel. “Sam loved dogs. Always wanted one assa pet…” If this was his chance, Dean figured he might help. Became more lenient. Gave Sam food from his plate, not that he ever noticed. Lied to John during those rare moments he was home.  “Most of the things he got away with were only because I let him. I’m sure if he ever wanted a boyfriend he could’ve done it, and there I’d be covering his tracks like I did for his dog an’ his playdates an’ his girlfriends.”

           “Wow, you…” Castiel trails off. Or perhaps he completed his thought, and Dean missed it because their arms are pressed together on the bar. Dean turns, watching the other’s soft contemplation instead of Sam. Castiel meets his gaze, those pearls reappearing. Shinier, too. “What happened to the dog?”

           “Sam dropped off food the next two weeks, but by then our dad was dying to move on,” he explains, “I happened to overhear him bitchin’ on the phone and knew it’d be soon. So I took a personal day and brought his mutt t’the nearest shelter.” Hopefully Patchy found a good home, not that he cared.

           “You’re a good brother.”

           “I try my best.”

           “Your best is better than a lot of people’s…” Castiel knocks his shoulder into Dean’s, Dean chasing after it. “My brothers’ idea of kindness is the occasional birthday e-mail, when the mood strikes them that is.”

           “That sucks.” There’s more he wants to say, except Dean cannot make his mouth open again. When he finally unsticks his lips, he forgot all those words that seemed important moments ago. Replaced by off-tempo notes and cyclical phrases. Dean sighs, head lolling to the side while his lids slide closed over his eyes.

           He exists in darkness. A warm, welcoming blackness, like being swaddled in a blanket. Hiding under it while winds howled and raged, sheets of rain slamming atop roofs and pelleting windows. Safe, protected.

           That blanket is torn from him, Dean stumbling slightly. Castiel catches him and helps him stand upright, smirking. “Hey,” Dean whines, numb fingers twining loosely around Castiel’s wrist, “where you goin’?”

           Castiel nods at the writhing mass, somehow larger since Dean last looked. “I feel like dancing.”

           “No…” Dean tugs Castiel back towards him. He stays where he was. “Stay here,” Dean insists.

           “Or…” Castiel says, prying Dean’s hand from his wrist. His needy fingers seep through the spaces between Castiel’s and he clings tight. “Or,” he repeats, breathier than before, “you can join me on the dancefloor?”

           “I don’t dance, Cas…” His legs betray him, following Castiel into the fray. Vodka making his protests toothless. Vodka and Castiel.

           He meant what he said, though. He does not dance. Men don’t dance. Real men. Normal men. Dad never danced, not even at his wedding. Even though mom begged, dad would tell them that he remained firm in his decision. “Never trust a man who dances,” he advised, Sam asleep feet from where they sat, beers in their hands. Dean was fourteen. “No man wants to dance. If he’s dancing, it means he’s weak enough to have lost that fight. And if he likes dancing, then that’s not the kind of man you want to be associating with.” Dean nodded, because at fourteen why not? Dad rarely gave guidance that wasn’t pointed, aimed directly at him. Cutting, slicing bits and pieces off and leaving them behind in whatever motel they briefly occupied.

           With how Castiel moves, effortless and graceful, Dean bets he likes dancing. And if Castiel likes dancing, Dean wonders, truly, how bad it can be.

           You want these people thinking you’re some kind of fairy? They already have, before he walked onto the dance floor. No son of mine is gonna dance with a man! Luckily, he won’t be dancing with one. He’ll dance, surrounded by men. Do you want to look gay, Dean? He won’t. Not if he says he doesn’t. Not if he says he isn’t.

           A kid from his junior high days taught him that. How, by telling yourself what you do isn’t gay, suddenly you create your own version of truth. “Not for everything,” he warned. He paused, panting, as he – like Dean – recovered on the leather couch. Spent, video paused on his basement television, shorts – like Dean’s – around his ankles, “it doesn’t work all the time.”

           “But for this?” Dean asked.

           “Definitely this.”

           Dean listened; those sacred words used sparingly over time. Mostly during clouded nights when the money ran out, as did their supplies, and Dean’s skills at the pool table or poker game couldn’t compare to those of his body.

           He uses the words again. This isn’t gay. Castiel spins him, his chest plastered onto Dean’s back. He tries phrasing it differently. Dancing isn’t gay. Dean takes his free hand, the one not latched onto Castiel, and mirrors an earlier action he saw. Combs his fingers through Castiel’s dark brown locks. He amends and adds to it, too. Dancing is the least gay thing he can be doing in this bar. That appeases the monster clawing at his mind, its voice, eerily similar to his dad’s, fading away. Dean smiles, then lets go.

           The music isn’t so bad. Dancing isn’t as bad, either. Castiel is…

           Dean focuses only on the music and dancing. It’s easy, losing himself in the rhythm. Forgetting who he is, where he is, and why he is where he is. He becomes nameless, another body in motion. Faceless as the strobe lights flicker and hide his features. Thoughtless, no room for anything besides what he hears. Dean doesn’t exist save for moments that jab at his awareness. Castiel squeezing his hand. The feel of hair then stubble then hair as his touch roams. Gasps at the base of his neck that elicit headier gasps from Dean. Firm press of chest-to-back, joined hands resting over his heart while Castiel’s free hand lays atop Dean’s stomach as they rock together.

           Dancing is the least gay thing he can be doing at this bar.

           While it fascinates Dean, Castiel must tire of their arrangement, because he disturbs Dean’s oblivion by turning from back-to-chest to chest-to-chest. The wrong move, Dean thinks, as his vision blurs in such a violent way. The room spins and tilts long after he did, everything appearing off-balance. Save for Castiel, standing in front of him, not dancing anymore.

           That’s why he throws his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, Dean’s mind comforts him with seconds later. For safety. For stability. Since he, too, wasn’t dancing anymore. His legs were useless, bent further than normal. Making him smaller. Forcing him to angle his head upwards to meet his savior’s searching gaze. Lips parted silently, asking a question with the ghost of his breath. Dean thinks he hears an invitation.

           He accepts. Dives headfirst into it, vodka mixing with tequila and a spritz of lime. Castiel tastes better than any drink he’s had. He puts pressure on Castiel’s shoulder, climbing for easier access. Castiel helps; an arm braced around Dean’s waist steadies him. Guides their bodies into a holding pattern, a simple sway that won’t interfere with the others cavorting around them. Serenity made within the chaos of a raging sea; these waves don’t crash. Rather, they tenderly caress the shoreline before retreating in similar fashion. A line of sea foam, like the line of spit generously coating Dean’s mouth, the only proof it even hit.

           Dean breaks from their kiss, panting. His forehead rests against Castiel’s. “That was…” he pauses, testing each word he thinks of and ultimately rejecting them all since they fail to describe what happened. He settles for, “Wow.”

           “It was,” Castiel agrees, “Why’d you stop, then?”

           “I stopped?” Dean sifts through his memories, those last few minutes entirely unforgettable but completely hard to recount. “I did?” he whispers, “Maybe it’s because I’m straight?”

           “Are you sure?”

           “I…” He can be, if he says so. Unfortunately, Dean forgets those little magic words. Trapped in limbo, the space between truths. “I’m not… I don’t know.”

           Cas steps back, enough that Dean sees his entire face instead of those enchanting blue eyes. It eases the worry plaguing Dean’s mind. “Did you enjoy what just happened? What we did?”

           “Yeah.”

           “Then you certainly aren’t straight.”

           Dean nods. He swallows a lump in his throat, feels it tear itself down into his stomach. He imagines blood spouting out of these gashes, building, climbing up in an escape attempt. He chokes on it. It might not be blood. Maybe-blood-maybe-drool leaks from the corners of his mouth as he asks, in a daze, “Does that mean I’m gay?”

           “Or something like it.” Castiel reaches forward, combing through Dean’s sweaty hair in time with the music. “Hey,” he says, “it’s okay if you are. That you like… that you kissed me. It’s okay.”

           It isn’t. Dean knows it isn’t. Not for him. Not with all that’s expected of him. The blueprint of who he’s supposed to be. Who Dean Winchester is. Torn to shreds and raining overhead like the actual confetti that floats down from high above. That were released without notice. Dropped there while he stands, in the middle of the dance floor, petrified by another man’s kiss. Dad’s efforts wasted.

           “It’s okay,” Castiel repeats, “it’s okay…” He drifts further away; but before Dean can whine about his absence, he realizes his feet move, too. Castiel leads him from the belly of this ecstatic, partying mob.

           “Where are you taking me?”

           “Nowhere far, just off the dance floor.” They reach the perimeter, crowd thinned and weak; Cas releases his hold on Dean. Shrugs his shoulders, blessedly smiling at him. “Where you go and... what you do next, well – that’s up to you.”

           He’s unprepared for such freedoms. The simplicity of making a choice. A foreign concept when all your life, every decision was already made for you. For other people. Keys don’t choose which doors they open. Hammers don’t make plans on which nails they’ll hit and which they’ll avoid.

           Dean giggles, overcome by an intoxicating rush of getting to choose without any real consequence. No judgement, no threats, no guilt. If Dean told Castiel that kiss meant nothing and then bolted out of the bar, he would never have to deal with these conflicting thoughts, actions, and feelings. Never need to see Castiel again.

           That isn’t what he wants.

           Dean embraces the confusion because he, Dean, wants to. He kisses Castiel, driving them forward until they hit a wall, because he wants to. Tells him, “I want you,” because he does. Because it’s the truth.

           And Castiel’s truth, “You can have me,” slots perfectly next to his.

           Dean is intimately familiar with the art of kissing. Spent years practicing with ever-changing partners; girls from all over who were probably as bored as Dean felt. Girls who his dad saw and made him beam with pride. Enough girls, so that he called Dean names – different than the ones he thought Dean didn’t know about – like lady killer and chip off the ol’ block. Girls that were good kissers, bad kissers, and mostly unremarkable whatsoever. Dean lost his appetite for kissing, the act not being very fun for him. Not something he might look forward to, even if he said the right things and acted his part perfectly.

           Kissing Castiel wasn’t good. Wasn’t bad. Not unremarkable in the slightest. It elevated the idea of kissing onto another level. A holy act. Placing Castiel on the same level as all his previous entanglements would be similar to heresy.

           This isn’t just a kiss. It’s Dean sticking his face into a fuse box with all the switches flicked on. It’s Dean stepping out into a storm without an umbrella. It’s riding down an empty highway, no cops in sight, and abusing the gas pedal until the speedometer needle vanishes.

           This kiss is apocalyptic, destroying the notion that anyone besides they two existed.

           A hand joins the two roving his body, shaking his arm. Dean laughs, “How’d you do that, Cas?”

           “Dean,” Not-Cas says, “hey, uh… Dean?” He turns, Castiel’s lips adorning his jaw with favor, and finds Sam on his other side. Watching. Aware of what he interrupted, given his pained smile and squinted gaze trapped elsewhere. “Sorry, but I’m…” he clears his throat, “I’m kinda ready to leave, if you… you are?”

           His fingers curl where Castiel’s shirt is rucked up, dangerously teasing the line of his jeans. Castiel rolls his hips, rutting their cocks against each other again. “Yeah,” he tells Sam, “Yeah I can… we can go.”

           Dean extracts himself from Castiel, slowly, taking care to disentangle themselves. Dean flattens Castiel’s mussed hair. He fiddles with the buttons of Dean’s shirts, inexplicably unfastened. Neither speak of how these things happened. “Hey,” he starts, still hovering inside the other man’s personal space, “Um… thank you, for everything. Tonight. From the bar to – uh… to he –!”

           Castiel drags him into a kiss, one Dean returns heartily. His hands grabbing fabric while Castiel’s dance around his hips. Consumed by this, Dean ignores his cell phone being stolen. Only becomes aware of it when Castiel ends their goodbye with a smile, Dean’s phone in hand actively calling someone. “My number,” he explains, flipping his phone shut, “to use whenever. Hopefully soon.”

           “…Thanks.”

           “Good night, Dean.”

           “Night, Cas.”

           He lingers. He opens his phone, closes it, then slips it back into his pocket. Sam mutters an unintelligible phrase at them, shoving Dean from where he stood. Dean blindly navigates his way towards the exit, seeing nothing but Castiel’s shrinking face that disappears once they step outside.

           He expected heat. It’s cold. Not actually, but cooler than the room they left, where bodies and light and energy broke the thermometer. Fresh air brushes his skin, startling Dean from his stupor. Dean jolts awake. His heart plummets down past his ass, chest hollowing. He glances at Sam, about to ask if they ever entered the bar. Or if he hallucinated everything on the walk to it. Dean’s lips purse, then flatten. Sam already walked ahead. He jogs after him.

           No one speaks for half their journey.

           They pass a twenty-four-hour convenience store Dean remembers, and he knows Baby waits a block around the next corner. Sam chooses then to restart their conversation. “Looks like this trip was good for both of us,” he says, hands shoved inside his pockets. He won’t meet Dean’s eyes. “Learned a lot.”

           “Really?” He’s parched. Unbalanced. His feet won’t walk in a straight line, stumbling every few steps. He persists, “What?”

           Sam shrugs, “I might have… over-examined that memory of Trevor.” Sighing, Sam kicks an empty, abandoned can into the street. “I guess I was searching for a reason why Jess and my relationship ended like it did. We were going so strong I… I figured it might have been me. That I wasn’t able to love her the way she needed because I couldn’t.”

           “Sometimes people just don’t work,” Dean tells him, “and no amount of forcing it is gonna fix it.”

           “Yeah…” He spots Baby easily, street deserted save his car and some poor, busted Beetle. Dean searches for his keys, struggling. Sam talks all the while. “And then there are some people who… who click immediately.” Dean tenses, breath stuttering. “How long have you been –?”

           He’s back in the bar. He must be. How else could he hear this overwhelming, earsplitting ringing. The kind that makes him stagger, slump against the closest surface and collapse there into a tiny ball, protected from the voice that somehow talks louder than that goddamn ringing. The monster’s voice. The one that sounds strangely similar to his dad’s. Angrily shouting, calling him names. “I’m not,” he said, as always, “I’m not.”

           Another sound overpowers the monster and that throbbing din. “Dean! Dean, hey… hey-hey-hey-hey Dean… it’s okay… it’s me, Sam. Sammy.” Someone touches his shoulder. Dean flinches from it. “Come on Dean… I won’t hurt you.” Their voice hitches, sounding waterlogged. “Please, Dean… wherever you think you are, you’re not. I promise. I need you, man. Sammy needs you.”

           Look out for Sammy.

           Dean forces himself into the present, a herculean feat as shadowed claws dig at him. Fight his attempts. He pries an eye open, then the other. There’s only Sam. Sam, kneeling in front of him on the sidewalk. Sam who, though he denies it, carries so much of their dad with him it makes staying calm near impossible. Dean sees a reflection of who Sam could be, that dad hoped Dean might be, that Sam wished he never would be. It was the reason why fatherly adoration came effortlessly when it was for Sam, even during days they hardly spoke. Dean acted as their go between. Hearing praise and relaying it; forever the messenger, carrying wounds and scars.

            “Dean, are you… you’re with me, right?” Dean nods, tension melting away. He slides further, knees bumping into Sam’s. A wordless comfort. “Fuck I am so… so sorry. I didn’t, I never meant –“

           “It’s okay.”

           “It’s not okay, Dean. Fuck!” His shout echoes towards the moon, filling the space left by clear California night. “What if I asked you while you were driving, we could have…”

           They might have died.

           “Shit…” Dean hisses, rubbing his throbbing head, willing its silence so he can think. He gets one minutes. He uses it wisely, handing Baby’s keys to Sam. “Take ‘em.”

           “What?”

           “I drank too much anyway.” Wobbling when he rises, Dean proves that true. “You were gonna have to take it, regardless.”

           Sam’s expression softens. In turn, Dean’s skin crawls. “Thank you.”

           “Just go start the damn car.” Dean won’t follow. Rather sharpening his defenses for the inevitable. Bad music. Lawful driving. Plaintive whines and rhetorical questions, all in an attempt at making Dean talk. About tonight. About their childhood. About signs he didn’t see, how it felt being this while in dad’s presence. Sam will push and push and push until he’s flatter than cardboard. Contents neatly organized and fit for storage.

           He hears the soft rumble of Baby’s engine, then that of his phone. A text.

Unknown Number 1 (650) 378-0914: In case you’re wondering, my name is spelled C A S T I E L ;)

           Despite what a whirlwind these past few minutes felt like, Dean laughs. Giggles become snorting which become happier tears rolling across his cheeks, tracing over still-damp lines and erasing them from sight. He clutches his phone atop his heart, figure bent as he now wheezes.

           Dean reigns in his giddiness. Stares at the message, wondering what he will do. Once Dean decides, he realizes his thumb was already halfway done.

           He saves his number under Cas <3. Dean responds, snapping his phone closed quickly before he can reread and second guess.

           Sam honks, watching with interest. A thousand questions waiting, hidden by the curious bend of his brows. Because of Castiel, Dean must face them. Will answer them. Is ready for them.